Points  of  Difference  between  AuveiHists  and 
their  Opponents, 

1.  WE  hold  that  the  prophetic  days  of  Daniel  and  John  are 
years ;  as  did  Wesley,  Scott,  Clark,  Fletcher,  the  learned  Joseph 
Mede,  Faber,  Prideaux,  Dr.  Hales,  BishorJ*  Newton,  and  Sir 
Isaac  Newton,  with  all  the  standard  protestant  commentators. 
Our  opponents  claim  that  they  are  simply  days,  or  half-days ! 

2.  We  claim  that  the  prophecies  of  Daniel  and  John  are  his- 
torical prophecies,  extending  to  the  end  o/  time,  as  all  Chris- 
tians have  held,  according  to  the  undoubted  testimony  of  histo- 
rians, till  our  day.     And  if  the  end  is  not  brought  to  view  by 
these  prophecies,  they  are  to  us  inexplicable. 

3.  We  claim  that  the  ninth  of  Daniel  is  an  appendix  to  the 
eighth,  and  that  the  seventy  weeks  and  the  2300  days  or  years 
commence  together.     Our  opponents  deny  this. 

Dr.  Hales  renders  Dan.  ix.  27  thus :  "  But  one  week  shall 
establish  a  [new]  covenant  with  many;. and  half  of  the  \veek 
shall  abrogate  the  [daily]  sacrifice  and  oblation.  And  upon  the 
pinnacle  [or  battlement  of  the  temple  shall  stand]  the  abomina- 
tion of  desolation,  even  until  the  consummation  [of  the  2300 
days.]  But  then  the  decreed  [desolation]  shall  be  poured  [in 
turn]  upon  the  desolator." 

He  then  adds,  "  This  chronological  prophecy  (which  I  have 
attempted  to  render  more  closely  and  intelligibly,  supplying 
the  ellipsis  necessary  to  complete  the  sense  of  the  original,) 
was  evidently  designed  to  explain  the  foregoing  vision,  espe- 
cially in  its  chronological  part  of  the  2300  days ;  at  the  end  of 
which  the  predicted  desolation  of  the  Jews  should  cease,  and 
their  sanctuary  be  cleansed." 

If  the  "  EXCEEDING  GREAT  HORN  "  of  Dan.  viii.  is 
ROME,  as  all  standard  protestant  commentators  admit,  it  fol- 
lows that  the  2300  days  must  be  years.  And  as  the  2300  days 
extend  to  the  cleansing  of  the  sanctuary,  and  the  sanctuary  is 
to  be  desolated  to  the  end  of  the  world  ;  if  they  begin  with  the 
seventy  weeks,  it  follows  that  we  have  approached  the  very  con- 
summation, and  may  look  daily  for  the  coining  of  the  Son  of  God. 

4.  We  believe  that  the  longer  prophetic  periods  mark  the 
limits  of  probation  ;  and  that  when  they  expire,  the  Lord  him-    I 
self  will  descend  from  heaven  with  a  shout,  raise  all  the  right-    ! 
eons  dead  in  incorruption  and  glory,  change  all  the  righteous   I 
living  from  mortality  to  immortality,  restore  the  whole  earth  to 
its  Eden  state,  and  set  up  God's  everlasting  kingdom.     Then 
the  kingdom  and  the  dominion,  and  the  greatness  of  the  king- 
dom under  the  whole  heaven,  shall  be  given  to  the-peopfe  of  the 
saints  of  the  Most  High,  whose  kingdom  is  an  everlasting  king- 
dom, and  all  dominions  shall  serve  and  obey  him.     Our  oppo- 
nents locate  their  abode  above  the  whole  heaven. 


THE    POOR    RICH    MAN, 


THE     RICH     POOR     MAN. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR   OF 
"HOPE  LESLIE,"  "THE  LINWOODS,"  &c. 


*  There  i«  that  maketb  himself  rich,  jet  hath  nothing :  there  is  that  maketb  himself  poor 
yet  hath  great  riches." 


NEW-YORK: 

HARPER  &.  BROTHERS,  CLIP  F-S  TREE  T. 


1838. 


LIBRARY 

^ixSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


{Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1836,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New-York.] 


TO  THE  REV.   JOSEPH  TUCKERMAN, 

THE    POOR   MAN'S    FRIEND, 

THIS  UTTLE  VOLUME    IS  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED 
BY    THE    AUTHOR 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
School-Days Page  9 

CHAPTER   II. 
« Uncle  Phil" .18 

CHAPTER  III. 
A  Friend  in  Need 24 

CHAPTER   IV 
A  Poor  Man's  Journey 33 

CHAPTER   V. 
Charlotte's  Return    .^r. 37 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Showers  and  Sunshine 53 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Love-Letters .    .     62 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
A  Peep  into  the  Poor  Rich  Man's  House 75 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  Peep  into  the  Rich  Poor  Man's  House  .     -     .     .     .    81 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Rich  Poor  Man's  Charities  ....  .88 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XI. 
An  Orphan  Girl Page  95 

CHAPTER  XII. 
"  Society"  at  the  Poor  Man's  Home     .     .     .     .     .     .104 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
"  Society"  at  the  Rich  Man's  House 118 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
An  Old  Acquaintance  not  "  Forgot" 125 

CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Rich  Man's  Charities 137 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Another  Rich  Merchant's  House 144 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
A  Cure  for  the  Heartache 148 

CHAPTER   XJJH. 
Light  in  a  Dark  Place   .     .     .     W; 159 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  Death-Bed 165 

CHAPTER  XX. 
The  Conclusion 172 

Note  180 


THE    POOR    RICH    MAN, 


RICH    POOR    MAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SCHOOL-DAYS. 

JUST  out  of  the  little  village  of  Essex,  in  New 
England,  and  just  at  the  entrance  of  a  rustic  bridge, 
there  is  a  favourite  resting-place  for  loiterers  of  all 
ages.  One  of  a  line  of  logs  that  have  been  laid 
down  to  enable  passengers  at  high  water  to  reach 
the  bridge  dry-shod,  affords  an  inviting  seat  under 
the  drooping  limbs  of  some  tali  sycamores.  There 
the  old  sit  down  to  rest  their  weary  limbs,  and 
read  with  pensive  eye  the  fond  histories  that  mem- 
ory has  written  over  the  haunts  of  their  secluded 
lives.  There,  too,  the  young  pause  in  their  sports, 
and  hardly  know  why  their  eyes  follow  with  such 
delight  the  silvery  little  stream  that  steals  away 
from  them,  kissing  the  jutting  points  of  the  green 
meadows,  and  winding  and  doubling  its  course  as 
if,  like  a  pleased  child,  it  would,  by  any  pretext, 
lengthen  its  stay  ; — nor,  certainly,  why  no  island 
that  water  bounds  will  ever  look  so  beautiful  to 
them  as  that  little  speck  of  one  above  the  bridge, 


10  THE    POOK.    RICH    MAN. 

with  its  burden  of  willows,  elders,  and  clematis  ;  of 
a  summer  evening,  their  every  leaf  lit  with  the 
firefly's  lamp ; — nor  why  their  eye  glances  from 
the  white  houses  of  the  village  street,-  glimmering- 
through  the  trees,  and  far  away  over  the  orchards 
and  waving  grain  of  the  uplands,  and  past  the  wavy 
line  of  hills  that  bound  the  horizon  on  one  side, 
to  fix  on  .the  bald  gray  peaks  of  that  mountain  wall 
whose  Indian  story  the  poet  has  consecrated. 
Time  will  solve  to  them  this  why. 

Under  those  sycamores,  on  a  certain  afternoon 
many  years  past,  sat  Charlotte  May,  a  pale,  sickly- 
looking  girl,  talking  with  Harry  Aikin  ;  and  beside 
them  Susan  May,  whose  ruddy  cheek,  laughing  eye, 
and  stocky  little  person  presented  an  almost  pain- 
ful contrast  to  her  stricken  sister.  Charlotte  was 
examining  with  a  very  pleased  countenance  a  new 
little  Bible,  bound  in  red  morocco.  "  Did  Mr. 
Reed  give  you  your  choice  of  the  prizes,  Harry  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  Mr.  Reed  is  too  much  afraid  of  exci- 
ting our  emulation,  or  rivalry,  as  he  calls  it,  for 
that.  He  would  not  even  call  the  books  he  gave 
us  prizes  ;  but  he  just  told  us  what  virtue,  or  rath- 
er quality,  we  had  been  most  distinguished  for." 

"  I  guess  I  know  what  yours  was,  Harry,"  said 
Susan  May,  looking  up  from  weaving  a  wreath  of 
nightshade  that  grew  about  them. 

"  What  do  you  guess,  Susy  ?" 

"  Why,  kindness  to  everybody !" 

"  No,  not  that." 

"  Well,  then,  loving  everybody." 

Harry  laughed  and  shook  his  head.  "  No,  nor 
that,  Susy ;"  and,  opening  to  the  first  unprinted  page 


SCHOOL-DAYS.  11 

of  ihe  Bible,  he  pointed  to  the  following  testimony, 
in  his  master's  autograph.  Charlotte  read  it 
aloud  :  "  It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  record  here 
the  diligence  and  success  of  my  esteemed  pupil, 
Harry  Aikin,  and  still  more  to  testify  to  his  strict 
practice  of  the  golden  rule  of  this  book,  Do  unto 
others  as  ye  would  they  should  do  unto  you." 

"  There,  there  !  I  knew  I  guessed  right.  You 
know  you  couldn't  do  so  if  you  didn't  love  every- 
body ;  could  he,  Lottie  ?" 

*'  You  were  not  very  far  from  right,  Susan,"  re- 
plied her  sister  ;  "  for  I  am  sure  Harry  could  not 
do  so  much  to  make  everybody  happy  if  he  did  not 
love  almost  everybody." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  do  not ;  at  least,  I  feel  a  great 
difference.  Do  you  think,  for  instance,  I  love 
Morris  Finley  or  Paulina  Clark  as  well  as  I  love 
you  and  Susan  1  No,  not  by  a  sea-full.  But,  then, 
it  is  very  true,  as  mother  used  to  tell  me,  if  you 
want  to  love  people,  or  almost  love  them,  just  do 
them  a  kindness,  think  how  you  can  set  about  to 
make  them  happier,  and  the  love,  or  something 
that  will  answer  the  purpose,  will  be  pretty  sure 
to  come." 

"  It  will,"  said  Charlotte,  with  a  faint  smile  ; 
"  otherwise  how  could  we  live  up  to  the  rule  of 
this  book ;  and  certainly  God  never  gave  us  a  law 
that  we  could  not  obey  if  we  would.  0,  Harry, 
I  am  so  glad  you  got  the  Bible  instead  of  any  of 
the  other  books,  for'  I  know  you  will  love  it,  and 
study  it,  and  live  after  it." 

"  I  will  try,  Lottie." 

"  But,  then,  Harry,  it  seems  to  me  those  that 
are  well,  and  strong,  and  at  ease,  can  never  value 


12  THE    POOR  RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

that  book  as  those  do  who  are  always  sick,  and 
suffering  pain." 

It  was  the  rarest  thing  in  the  world  for  Charlotte 
to  allude  to  her  peculiar  trials.  Harry  looked  sad, 
and  little  Susan,  who  had  the  most  marvellous  fac- 
ulty of  seeing  a  bright  side  to  every  thing,  said,  ia 
a  tender  voice,  and  putting  her  arm  round  her  sis- 
ter's neck, 

"  Then,  Lottie,  there  is  some  comfort  in  being 
sick,  is  not  there  ?" 

4<  There  is,  Susan ;  there  is  comfort  when  you 
cannot  eat,  nor  sleep,  nor  walk  abroad  in  the  pure 
air,  nor  look  out  upon  this  beautiful  world  ;  when 
neither  doctors'  skill  nor  friends'  love  can  lessen 
one  pang,  it  is  then  comfort — it  is  life  to  the  deady 
Susan,  to  read  in  this  blessed  book  of  God's  good- 
ness and  compassions ;  to  sit,  as  it  were,  at  the 
feet  of  Jesus,  and  learn  from  him  who  brought  life 
and  immortality  to  light ;  that  there  is  a  world 
where  there  is  no  more  sickness  nor  pain — where 
all  tears  are  wiped  away." 

There  was  a  pause,  first  broken  by  Susan  ask- 
ing if  those  that  were  well  and  happy  did  not  love 
to  read  the  Bible  too. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  replied  Harry ;  "  I  remember 
mother  used  to  say  she  read  the  Bible  for  every 
thing — to  make  her  wiser,  and  better,  and  happier. 
I  believe  seeing  mother  so  happy  over  it  has 
made  me  like  it  more." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Susan  ;  "  I  am  sure  I 
should  not  love  to  read  any  thing  that  did  not  make 
me  happy — but  here  comes  Morris  ;  what  book 
did  you  get,  Morris  ?" 

"  Bewick's  History  of  Birds." 


SCHOOL-DAYS.  13 

"  Oh,  full  of  pictures — how  lovely  !"  exclaimed 
Susan,  running  over  the  leaves ;  "  did  Paulina 
Clark  get  a  book,  Morris  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  she  has  changed  it  at  Hutchinson's 
store  for  a  pink  silk  handkerchief." 

"  How  could  she  1  I  am  sorry !"  said  Charlotte. 

"  It's  just  like  her !"  said  Susan  ;  and  then,  re- 
turning Morris's  book,  she  added,  "  after  all,  I  had 
rather  have  Harry's  Bible." 

"  The  more  goose  you,  then — my  book  cost 
twice  as  much  as  his  Bible." 

"  Did  it  ?"  Susan  was  rather  crestfallen. 

"To  be  sure  it  did,  and,  what  is  more,  I  can 
sell  it  for  twice  as  much." 

"  Ah,  then  I've  caught  you,  sir ;  Harry  would 
not  sell  his  Bible  for  any  sum,  so  by  your  own 
rule  Harry's  is  worth  the  most !" 

Morris  was  somewhat  disconcerted.  He  re- 
sumed, in  a  lowered  tone,  "  Maybe  I  should  not 
sell  it  just  for  the  dollar  and  a  half ;  but,  then,  when 
one  knows  the  value  of  money,  one  does  not  like 
to  have  so  much  lying  idle.  Money  shoul(J  work, 
as  father  says.  If  you  could  reckon  interest  and 
compound  interest  as  well  as  I  can,  Miss  Susan, 
I  guess  you  would  not  like  to  have  your  money 
lying  idle  on  a  book-shelf!" 

"  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  interest  compound 
interest  is,  Morris  ;  but  I  know  the  interest  I  take 
in  a  pleasant  book  is  better  than  a  handful  of 
money,  and  if  I  only  had  the  dollar  and  a  half  I 
would  give  it  to  you  in  a  minute  for  that  book." 

{'  '  Only  had  /'  Ah,  there's  the  rub  !  you  people 
that  despise  money  never  get  it,  and  that  is  what 
father  always  says»" 

B 


14  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

"  '  Despise  it  /'  "  repeated  Susan,  sighing  as  she 
knelt  on  the  log  between  Harry  and  her  sister,  and 
bound  over  Charlotte's  pale  forehead  the  wreath 
of  ominous  nightshade.  "  '  Despise  money,'  Morris, 
I  would  do  any  thing  in  the  world  to  get  enough 
to  take  Lottie  down  to  that  wonderful  New- York 
doctor  ;  but  there's  one  comfort,  Lottie,"  she  added, 
brightening,  "  he  might  not  cure  you,  and  then  we 
should  feel  worse  than  ever." 

"  What  doctor  is  Sue  speaking  of  ?"  asked 
Harry,  looking  up  eagerly  from  his  Bible. 

Charlotte  explained  that  a  cousin  living  in  New- 
York  had  written  to  her  of  a  physician  in  the 
city,  who  had  been  particularly  successful  in 
treating  diseases  of  the  spine.  Her  cousin  had 
urged  Charlotte's  coming  to  the  city,  and  had 
kindly  offered  to  receive  the  poor  invalid  at  her 
house.  "  Father,"  she  said,  "  talks  of  our  going, 
but  I  do  not  think  we  can  make  it  out,  so  I  don't 
allow  myself  to  think  of  it  much ;  and  when  mur- 
muring thoughts  rise,  I  remember  how  many  rich 
people  there  are  who  travel  the  world  over,  and 
consult  all  the  doctors,  and  are  nothing  bettered ; 
and  so  I  put  a  little  patience-salve  on  the  aching 
place,  and  that,  as  Susy  would  say,  is  a  great  com- 
fort when  you  can't  get  any  thing  else." 

"  Yes — when  you  can't,"  replied  Harry,  fixing 
his  eyes  compassionately  on  Charlotte's  face, 
where,  though  the  cheek  was  pale,  and  the  eye 
sunken,  the  health  of  the  soul  was  apparent.  "  But 
can't  there  be  some  way  contrived  ?" 

"  We  are  trying  our  best  at  contrivance,  Harry. 
Father,  you  know,  never  has  any  thing  ahead ;  but 
he  offered  himself  to  let  out  old  Jock  by  the  day,  and 


SCHOOL-DAYS.  15 

save  all  he  earns  towards  the  journey  ;  that  will  be 
something.  I  have  three  dollars  left  of  the  last  I  ever 
earned,  and  dear  little  Susy  has  given  me  five  dol- 
lars, which  aunt  Mary  sent  to  buy  her  a  cloak." 

"  And  how  much  will  the  journey  cost,  Char- 
lotte ?" 

"  Father  says  his  last  journey  down  to  Barnsta- 
ble  cost  him  but  ten  dollars  besides  the  provision 
and  fodder  he  carried  in  the  wagon.  New- York 
is  not  as  far  as  Barnstable  ;  but  horse-keeping  there 
is  terrible,  and  I  dare  not  think  what  the  doctor's 
bill  may  be." 

"  Oh,"  thought  Harry,  "  if  I  were  only  rich !  if 
I  were  only  worth  fifty  dollars  !"  Money  he  had 
none,  but  he  ran  over  in  his  mind  all  his  converti- 
ble property.  "  There's  Bounce  (his  dog) ;  Squire 
Allen  offered  me  three  dollars  for  Bounce — I 
thought  I  would  not  sell  him  for  a  hundred,  but  he 
shall  have  him — and  I  have  been  offered  two  dol- 
lars for  Sprite  and  Jumper  (two  black  squirrels  he 
had  tamed  with  infinite  pains) ;  and  what  else  have 
I  ?"  He  ran  over  his  little  possessions,  his  wear- 
ing apparel,  article  by  article  ;  he  had  no  superflui- 
ty— sundry  little  keepsakes,  but  they  were  out  of  the 
class  of  money-value  articles — his  Bible,  it  was 
new  and  pretty,  and  would  certainly  bring  a  dollar. 
He  looked  at  it  lovingly,  and  was  obliged  again  to 
look  at  Charlotte  before  he  mentally  added  it  to 
the  list.  He  resolved  on  his  benevolent  traffic, 
and  was  just  saying, "  To-morrow, Charlotte,!  think 
I  shall  have  something  to  add  to  your  store,"  when 
Morris,  who  had  taken  a  seat  at  some  distance,  and 
seemed  much  absorbed,  started  up,  exclaiming, 

"  Yes,  in  five   years,  at  compound  interest,  I 


16  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

shall  have  two  dollars  and  a  fraction — won't  that 
be  a  nest-egg,  Harry  Aikin  ?" 

A  tear  in  Charlotte's  eye  had  already  replied  to 
Harry,  but  any  reply  to  Morris  was  cut  off  by  the 
appearance  of  Charlotte's  father,  Philip  May,  com 
ing  down  the  road.  Philip  was  a  most  inoffen- 
sive, kind-hearted  creature  ;  and,  though  rather  an 
unproductive  labourer  in  worldly  matters,  he  had, 
by  dint  of  harming  no  one,  and  serving  every  one 
rather  better  than  himself,  kept  bright  the  links  of 
human  brotherhood,  and  made  them  felt,  too,  for  his 
general  appellation  was  "  Uncle  Phil."  As  "  Uncle 
Phil"  approached,  it  was  apparent  that  the  calm 
current  of  his  feelings  had  been  ruffled.  Little 
Susan,  her  father's  pet,  with  the  unerring  eye  of  a 
loving  child,  was  the  first  to  perceive  this.  "  What's 
the  matter,  father  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  dreadful  bad  news  !  I  don't  know  how 
you'll  stand  it,  Charlotte" — the  girls  were  breath- 
less-— "  poor  Jock  is  gone  !" 

"  Gone,  sir  !  how  gone  ?    what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Clean  gone  ! — drownded  /" 

"  Drowned !  oh,  dear,  how  sorry  I  am  !"  and 
14  poor  Jock !"  was  exclaimed  and  reiterated,  while 
Uncle  Phil  turned  away  to  hide  certain  convulsive 
twitches  of  his  muscles. 

"  But  it's  some  comfort,  any  how,"  said  Susan, 
the  first  to  recover  herself,  "  that  he  was  so  old  he 
must  have  died  of  his  own  accord  before  long." 

"  And  that  comfort  you  would  have  had  if  it  had 
been  me  instead  of  Jock,  Susan." 

"  Oh,  father  !" 

"I  did  not  mean  nothing,  child  ;  I'm  sure  I 
think  it  is  kind  of  providential  to  have  a  lively  dis- 


SCHOOL-DAYS.  17 

position,  that's  always  rising  over  the  top  of  every 
trouble.  But  then  it's  so  inconvenient  to  lose 
Jock  just  now,  when  he's  arning  money  for  us  ; 
and  how  in  natur  am  I  ever  to  get  Charlotte  to 
New- York  without  him  ?" 

"  Don't  think  of  that  now,  father ;  how  did  the 
accident  happen  ?" 

"  Ah,  that's  the  onluckiest  of  all ;  it  beats  all 
that  Sam  should  be  so  careless.  You  know  I  let 
Jock  out  to  Sam  Glover  to  plough  his  meadow — 
you  said,  Charlotte,  Jock  looked  too  low  in  flesh  for 
hard  work ;  I  wish  1  had  taken  your  warning !  Well, 
you  see,  when  Sam  went  to  dinner,  he  tied  Jock  close 
by  the  river,  and  somehow  the  poor  critter  backed 
down  the  bank  into  the  river,  and  fell  on  his  back, 
and  he  was  tied  in  such  a  fashion  he  could  not 
move  one  way  or  the  other,  and  the  water  running 
into  his  nostrils,  and  ears,  and  mouth — and  when 
Sam  came  back  from  dinner  it  was  all  over  with 
him." 

"  Then,"  said  Morris,  "  it  was  wholly  owing  to 
Sam  Glover's  carelessness  ?" 

"  To  be  sure,  there  was  no  need  on't ;  if  it  had 
been  me,  I  should  have  calculated  to  tie  the  horse 
so  that  if  he  did  back  into  the  river  he  could  have 
helped  himself  out." 

"  Better  have  tied  him  where  there  was  no  dan- 
ger of  such  an  accident,  Uncle  Phil."  Uncle  Phil 
was  right  in  his  calculations.  What  were  acci- 
dents to  other  men,  made  up  the  current  of  events 
to  him.  "  But,"  proceeded  Morris,  "  you  can  cer- 
tainly make  Sam  pay  for  the  horse  ?"  Uncle  Phil 
made  no  reply.  "  You  mean  to  get  it  out  of  him, 
don't  you,  Uncle  Phil  ?" 


18  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

"  I  kind  o'  hate  to — Sam  ain't  rich." 

"  No — but  he  is  not  poor.  I  heard  him  say  to 
father,  when  he  was  talking  of  buying  the  mountain 
farm,  that  he  had  two  hundred  dollars  clear  of  the 
world." 

"  He  did  not,  did  he  ?" 

"  He  certainly  did,  and  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  make  him  a  present  of  your  horse." 

"  Nor  do  I  see,  father,  why  you  should  not  be 
just  to  yourself,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  Well,  well,  I  calculate  to  do  what's  fair,  all 
round — but  Sam  felt  bad,  I  tell  you  !  and  I  did  not 
want  to  bear  down  on  him  ;  but  when  I've  got  the 
mind  of  the  street,  I'll  do  something  about  speaking 
to  him." 

Charlotte  mentally  determined  to  keep  her 
father  up  to  this  resolution,  the  most  energetic  that 
could  be  expected  from  him  ;  and  all  lamenting  the 
fate  of  poor  Jock,  the  parties  separated  and  pro- 
ceeded homeward. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"UNCLE  PHIL" 

WE  have  rathe*r  unceremoniously  presented 
some  of  the  humble  inhabitants  of  Essex  to  our 
readers.  A  few  more  preparatory  words  to  en- 
sure a  better  acquaintance.  Philip  May  was  bred 
a  hatter.  His  trade  and  patrimony  (amounting  to 


"UNCLE  PHIL."  19 

a  few  hundred  dollars)  would  have  ensured  inde- 
pendence to  most  of  his  countrymen ;  but  Philip 
lacked  their  characteristics — energy  and  sound 
judgment,  and  all  the  prospering  go-ahead  quali- 
ties that  abound  with  them.  But,  lacking  these, 
a  most  kind  Providence  had  given  him  a  disposi- 
tion that  made  him  content  without  them,  and 
quite  independent  of  their  results.  His  horizon 
was  bounded  by  the  present  hour — he  literally 
took  no  thought  for  the  morrow.  He  married  early, 
and  in  this  turning  point  of  life  Heaven  seemed 
to  have  taken  special  care  of  him.  Never  was  a 
wife  better  calculated  by  vigour,  firmness,  and  in- 
dustry, to  counteract  the  destructive  tendencies  of 
a  shiftless  husband.  Nor  was  she,  like  some  dri- 
ving wives,  a  thorn  in  her  quiet,  loving  husband's 
side.  While  she  cured  all  the  evils  that  could 
be  cured  in  her  condition,  she  endured  the  incura- 
ble with  cheerfulness — a  marvellous  lightener  of 
the  burdens  of  life  ! 

Before  his  marriage  Philip  built  a  house,  the 
cost  of  which  far  exceeding  his  means,  he  finished 
but  one  end  of  it,  and  the  rest  was  left  for  the  rains 
to  enter,  and  the  winds  to  whistle  through,  till  he 
took  his  wife's  counsel,  sold  his  house,  paid  his 
debts,  and  bought  a  snug  little  dwelling  far  more 
comfortable  than  their  "  shingle  palace"  in  its  best 
state. 

But,  before  they  arrived  at  this  stage  in  the 
journey  of  life,  both  good  and  evil  had  chanced  to 
them.  Their  firstborn,  Ellen,  ran  into  an  open 
cistern,  the  surface  of  which  was  just  on  a  level 
with  the  platform  before  the  house :  so  it  had  re- 
mained a  year  after  the  active  child  began  to  run 


20  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

about ;  and,  to  its  mother's  reiterated  requests  and 
warnings,  Philip  always  answered — "  Now  that's 
just  what  I  am  going  about  next  week."  When 
his  only  child  was  drowned  in  this  seeming  water- 
trap  was  certainly  no  time  to  reproach  Philip,  and 
he  who  never  reproached  any  one  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  make  himself  an  exception.  He  merely 
said,  "  It  was  a  wonderful  providence  Ellen  was 
drowned  that  day,  for  the  very  next  he  calculated 
to  put  a  kerb  to  the  cistern — but  it  was  meant  so 
to  be — he  always  felt  Ellen  was  not  long  for  this 
world !"  Their  next  child  was  our  friend  Charlotte  ; 
and  she,  like  her  drowned  sister,  was  born  with 
one  of  the  best  mortal  gifts — a  sound  constitution, 
which,  watched  over  by  her  wise  and  vigilant 
mother,  promised  a  long  life  of  physical  comfort. 
But  these  prospects  were  sadly  reversed  when 
her  father,  having  one  day  taken  her  out  in  his 
wagon,  left  her  holding  the  reins  "  while  he  just 
stepped  to  speak  to  a  neighbour."  While  he  was 
speaking,  the  horse  took  fright,  Charlotte  was 
thrown  out,  and  received  an  injury  that  imbittered 
her  whole  life.  Philip  was  really  grieved  by  this 
accident.  He  said  "  It  seemed  somehow  as  if  it 
was  so  to  be,  for  he  had  no  thought  of  taking  Char- 
lotte out  that  day  till  he  met  her  in  his  way." 

His  next  mishap  was  the  burning  of  his  work- 
shop, in  which,  on  one  gusty  day,  he  left  a  blazing 
fire.  A  consequence  so  natural  seemed  very  strange 
to  Uncle  Phil,  who  said  "It  was  most  ^accounta- 
ble, for  he  had  often  left  it  just  so,  and  it  had  nev- 
er burnt  up  before !"  This  incident  gave  a  new 
turn  to  Philip's  life.  He  abandoned  his  trade,  and 
really  loving,  or,  as  he  said; "  aiming"  to  suit  every  • 


21 

body,  he  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  incessant  complaints 
of  want  of  punctuality,  bad  materials,  and  bad  work, 
and  became  what  most  imbeciles  become  sooner 
or  later,  a  Jack  at  all  trades.  In  a  community  like 
that  at  Essex,  where  labourers  in  every  depart- 
ment are  few,  and  work  plenty,  even  the  universal 
Jack  need  not  starve  ;  and  Uncle  Phil,  if  unskilful 
and  slack,  was  always  good-natured,  and  seldom  so 
much  engrossed  by  one  employment  that  he  could 
not  leave  it  for  another.  But,  though  rather  an 
unprofitable  labourer,  Uncle  Phil  had  no  vices. 
He  was  temperate  and  frugal  in  his  habits,  and 
a  striking  illustration  of  how  far  these  virtues  alone 
will  sustain  a  man  even  in  worldly  matters.  His 
small  supplies  were  so  well  managed  by  his  wife, 
that  no  want  was  felt  by  his  family  during  her  life. 
That  valuable  life  was  prematurely  ended.  Soon 
after  the  birth  of  her  last  baby,  Uncle  Phil  was 
called  up  in  the  night  by  some  cattle  having  entered 
his  garden  through  his  rickety  fence.  His  bed- 
room door  opened  upon  the  yard ;  he  left  it  open ; 
it  was  a  damp,  chilling  night.  Mrs.  May,  being 
her  own  nurse,  had  fallen  asleep  exhausted.  She 
awoke  in  an  ague  that  proved  the  prelude  to  a 
fatal  illness  ;  and  Uncle  Phil,  being  no  curious  tra- 
cer of  effects  to  causes,  took  no  note  of  the  open 
door,  and  the  damp  night,  and  replied  to  the  con- 
dolence of  his  friends  that  "  Miss  May  was  too 
good  a  wife  for  him — the  only  wonder  was  Provi- 
dence had  spared  her  so  long."  More  gifted  peo- 
ple than  honest  Uncle  Phil  deposite  quietly  at  the 
door  of  Providence  the  natural  consequences  of 
their  own  carelessness. 

The  baby  soon  followed  its  mother,  and  Philip 


22  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

May  was  left  with  but  two  children — Charlotte,  at 
the  time  of  her  mother's  death,  thirteen,  and  Susan, 
nine.  They  had  been  so  far  admirably  trained  by 
their  mother,  and  were  imbued  with  her  character, 
seeming  only  to  resemble  their  father  in  hearts 
running  over  with  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  un- 
less Susan's  all-conquering  cheerfulness  was  de- 
rived from  her  father's  ever-acquiescing  patience. 
His  was  a  passive  virtue — hers  an  active  princi- 
ple. If  any  one  unacquainted  with  the  condition 
of  life  in  New-England  should  imagine  that  the 
Mays  had  suffered  the  evils  of  real  poverty,  they 
must  allow  us  to  set  them  right.  In  all  our  wide- 
spread country  there  is  very  little  necessary  pov- 
erty. In  New-England  none  that  is  not  the  result 
of  vice  or  disease.  If  the  moral  and  physical  laws 
of  the  Creator  were  obeyed,  the  first  of  these 
causes  would  be  at  an  end,  and  the  second  would 
scarcely  exist.*  Industry  and  frugality  are  won- 
derful multipliers  of  small  means.  Philip  May 
brought  in  but  little,  but  that  little  was  well  admin- 
istered. His  house  was  clean — his  garden  pro- 
ductive (the  girls  kept  it  wed) — his  furniture  care- 
fully preserved — his  family  comfortably  clad,  and 
his  girls  schooled.  No  wonder  Uncle  Phil  never 
dreamed  he  was  a  poor  man  ! 

Henry  Aikin  was  the  youngest  of  twelve  chil- 
dren. His  father  was  a  farmer — all  his  property, 
real  and  personal,  might  have  amounted  to  some 

*  We  have  heard  a  gentleman  who,  in  virtue  of  the  office  he 
holds  as  minister  at  large,  is  devoted  to  succouring  the  poor, 
state,  that  even  in  this  city  (New -York),  he  had  known  very  few 
cases  of  suffering  from  poverty  that  might  not  be  traced  directly 
or  indirectly  to  vice. 


"UNCLE  PHIL."  23 

five  or  six  thousand  dollars,  and  on  this  he  had  his 
dozen  children  to  feed  and  clothe,  and  fit  to  fill 
honourable  places  in  society — to  be  farmers,  me- 
chanics, doctors,  ministers,  and  so  on.  In  such  a 
family,  well  regulated,  there  are  excellent  lessons 
in  the  economy  of  human  life,  and  well  learned 
were  they  by  the  Aikins,  and  afterward  well  ap- 
plied. 

Morris  Finley  was  the  son  of  the  only  man  in 
Essex  who  had  not  any  regular  business.  He 
was  what  our  rustics  call  a  schemer  and  a  jockey  ; 
in  a  larger  sphere  he  would  have  been  a  specula- 
tor. Money,  not  as  a  means,  but  as  an  end,  seem- 
ed to  him  the  chief  good  ;  and  he  had  always  a 
plan  for  getting  a  little  more  of  it  than  his  neigh- 
bours. He  was  keen-sighted  and  quick-witted  ;  of 
course  he  often  succeeded,  but  sometimes  failed  ; 
and,  distrusted  and  disliked  through  life,  at  the  end 
of  it  he  was  not  richer  in  worldly  goods  than  his 
neighbours,  and  poor  indeed  was  he  in  all  other 
respects.  He  had,  however,  infused  his  ruling 
passion  into  his  son  Morris,  and  he,  being  better 
educated  than  his  father,  and  regularly  trained  to 
business,  had  a  far  better  chance  of  ultimate  suc- 
cess. 


24  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,  ETC. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  FRIEND    IN    NEED. 

A  WINTER  had  passed  away,  and  one  of  our  un- 
genial  springs,  always  unkind  to  invalids,  was 
wearing  to  the  last  days  of  May.  Charlotte's  dis- 
ease was  aggravated  by  long  confinement,  and  as 
she  sat  toiling  over  an  old  coat  of  her  father's,  her 
eye  turned  sadly  towards  the  cold  sky  and  the 
thinly-clad  boughs  of  the  trees  that  were  rustling 
against  the  window,  and  that,  like  her,  seemed 
pining  for  warmth  and  sunshine.  "  Will  summer 
ever  come  ?"  she  thought ;  and  then,  suppressing  a 
sigh  of  impatience,  she  added,  "  but  I  don't  mean 
to  murmur."  At  this  moment  Susan  bounded  into 
the  room,  her  cheek  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"  Good  news,  good  news  !"  she  cried,  clapping 
her  hands  ;  "  H'arry  has  got  home  !" 

"  Has  he  ?" 

"  Why,  Lottie,  you  don't  seem  a  bit  joyful !" 

The  tears  came  to  Charlotte's  eyes.  "  I  have 
got  to  be  a  poor  creature  indeed,"  she  said,  "  when 
the  news  of  Harry's  getting  home  does  not  make 
me  joyful." 

"  Oh,  but  Lottie,  it's  only  because  you  did  not 
sleep  last  night :  take  a  little  of  your  mixture  and 
lie  down,  and  by  the  time  Harry  gets  up  here — he 
told  me  he  should  come  right  up — you  will  look 
glad ;  I  am  sure  you  feel  so  now." 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  25 

'•  i  do,  Susy :  Essex  never  seems  Essex  when 
Barry  is  out  of  it." 

'•  No,  I  am  sure  it  does  not ;  but,  then,  if  he  did 
not  go  away,  we  should  not  have  the  joy  of  his 
coming  home."  Susan  was  the  first  to  see  the 
compensation. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Charlotte,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  that  Harry  will  not  go  away  again  on  this  busi- 
ness ;  he  may  be  getting  money,  but  then  he 
should  have  been  at  school  the  past  winter.  You 
know  what  Doctor  Allen  used  to  say  to  mother — 
1  Education  is  the  best  capital  for  a  young  man  to 
begin  with.'  I  am  afraid  Harry  has  caught  some 
of  Morris  Finley's  notions." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Charlotte  ! — they  are  as  different 
as  day  and  night.  I  am  sure,  if  Harry  is  eager  to 
get  money,  it's  because  he  has  some  good  use  for 
it,  and  not,  like  Morris,  just  for  the  money's  sake." 

"  I  hope  it  is  so,  but  even  then  I  do  not  like  this 
travelling  about ;  I  am  afraid  he  will  get  an  unset- 
tled disposition." 

"  Why,  Charlotte,  it  is  not  so  very  pleasant  trav 
elling  about  in  freezing  winter  weather,  and  deep 
muddy  spring  roads,  peddling  books." 

The  subject  of  their  discussion  broke  it  off  by 
his  entrance  ;  and,  after  mutual  kind  greetings  were 
over,  he  sat  down  by  Charlotte  with  a  face  that 
plainly  indicated  he  had  something  to  say,  and 
knew  not  how  to  begin. 

"  Have  you  had  good  luck,  Harry  ?"  asked  Char- 
lotte. 

"  Very !"    The  very  was  most  emphatic. 

"  Well,  I  hope  it  won't  turn  your  head." 
C 


26  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile  ;  "  it 
feels  very  light  just  now,  and  my  heart  too." 

Charlotte  looked  grave. 

"  No  one  would  think,"  said  Susan,  "  that  Char- 
lotte was  glad  to  see  you,  Harry  ;  but  sh^  is,  for 
we  both  love  you  just  as  well  as  'if  you  w*re  a 
brother — having  none  that's  natural,  you  know. 
But  poor  Lottie  is  worse  than  ever  this  spring, 
and  nothing  seems  to  do  her  any  good  ;  and  I  have 
been  trying  to  persuade  her  to  send  round  a  sub- 
scription-paper to  get  money  to  go  to  New-York ; 
maybe  she'll  consent  now  you  have  come  to  ask 
her." 

"  That's  the  very  thing,"  said  Harry,  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  her  about." 

"  Oh,  don't,  Harry  ;  if  our  friends  and  neigh- 
bours were  to  think  of  it  themselves,  I  would  ac- 
cept the  money  thankfully,  but  I  cannot  ask  for  it." 

"  You  need  not,  Charlotte — you  need  not — but 
you  will  take  it  from  a  brother,  as  Susy  almost 
calls  me,  won't  you  ?" 

He  hastily  took  from  his  pocketbook  five  ten- 
dollar  notes,  and  put  them  on  Charlotte's  lap. 

"Harry!"  Charlotte  feebly  articulated. 

"  Oh,  Harry,  Harry  !"  shouted  Susan,  throwing 
her  arms  round  his  neck  in  a  transport  of  joy,  and 
then  starting  back  and  slightly  blushing  ;  "  did  I 
not  tell  you  so,  Lottie  ?"  she  said. 

Charlotte  smiled  through  her  tears.  "  Not  pre- 
cisely so,  Susy,  for  who  could  have  expected  this  ? 
But  I  might  have  known  it  was  not  for  the  money, 
as  you  did  say,  but  for  what  the  money  would 
bring,  that  Harry  was  working." 

"  And  what  could  money  bring  so  good  as  bet- 


A   FRIEND    IN    NEED.  27 

ter  health  for  you,  Charlotte  ?  Your  suffering  is  the 
only  thing  that  ever  makes  me  unhappy  ;  and  so, 
after  all,  it  is  selfishness  in  me." 

Happy  would  it  be  for  our  race  if  there  were 
more  such  selfishness  as  Harry  Aikin's.  The 
benevolent  principle  is,  after  all,  the  true  alchymy 
that  converts  the  lead  to  gold. 

The  preceding  fall,  and  shortly  before  the  scene 
described  at  the  bridge,  an  acquaintance  and  very 
good  friend  of  Harry's,  a  bookseller  in  the  shire 
town  of  their  county,  had  applied  to  Harry  to  be 
his  agent  in  peddling  books,  and  had  offered  him 
a  tempting  per  centage  on  his  sales.  Harry,  then 
but  fourteen,  was  rather  young  for  such  a  business  ; 
but  the  good  bookseller  had  good  reason  to  rely  on 
his  fidelity  and  (Discretion,  and  hoped  much  from 
his  modest  and  very  pleasing  address.  Harry 
communicated  the  offer  to  his  parents.  They  told 
him  to  decide  for  himself  ;  that  whatever  money 
he  earned  should  be  his  ;  but  that,  as  he  was  to  go 
to  a  trade  the  following  spring,  and  the  intervening 
winter  being  the  only  time  he  had  for  further  school- 
education,  they  advised  him  to  forego  the  booksel-» 
ler's  offer.  Harry  could  think  of  plenty  of  eligible 
appropriations  for  any  sum  he  might  earn  ;  but,  af- 
ter a  little  reflection,  nothing  that  even  fifty  dollars 
could  buy  weighed  in  the  scales  against  six 
months'  good  instruction  ;  and,  thanking  his  pa- 
rents for  their  liberality  to  him,  he  decided  on  the 
school.  This  decision  occurred  on  the  very  day 
of  poor  Jock's  untimely  death,  and  was  reversed 
by  that  event,  and  the  consequent  overthrow  of 
Charlotte  May's  project.  He  immediately  con- 
ceived the  design  of  effecting  her  journey  to  New- 


28  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

York  by  the  result  of  his  labour  ;  and,  communica 
ting  his  purpose  to  his  two  confidential  friends,  his 
parents  (most  happy  are  those  children  who  make 
their  parents  the  depositaries  of  their  secrets),  he 
received  their  consent  and  approbation.  They 
were  consistent  Christians,  and  thought  that  active 
goodness  enriched  their  child  far  more  than  money, 
or  even  than  education,  which  they  held  to  be  next 
best  to  virtue.  The  contract  was  made  with  the 
bookseller,  and  the  fifty  dollars,  an  immense  sum  to 
him  that  .earned  it,  and  to  her  who  received  it,  esti- 
mated by  the  painstaking  of  the  one,  and  the  reliet 
and  gratitude  of  the  other,  were  appropriated  to  the 
expenses  of  the  New- York  journey. 

Those  who  travel  the  world  over  seeking  pleas- 
ures that  have  ceased  to  please ;  going,  as  some 
one  has  said,  from  places  where  no  one  regrets 
them,  to  places  where  no  one  expects  them,  can 
hardly  conceive  of  the  riches  of  a  poor  person,  who, 
having  fifty  dollars  to  spend  on  the  luxury  of  a 
journey,  feels  the  worth  of  every  sixpence  ex- 
pended in  a  return  of  either  advantage  or  enjoy- 
ment. 

If  any  of  my  readers  have  chanced  to  hear  a 
gentleman  curse  his  tailor,  who  has  sent  home,  at 
the  last  moment,  some  new  exquisite  articles  of 
apparel  for  a  journey,  when  they  were  found  to  be 
a  hair's  breadth  too  tight  or  too  loose ;  or  if  they 
have  assisted  at  the  perplexed  deliberations  of  a 
fine  lady  as  to  the  colour  and  material  of  her  new 
dresses  and  new  hat,  and  have  witnessed  her 
vexations  with  dressmakers  and  milliners,  we 
invite  them  to  peep  into  the  dwelling  of  our  young 
friends,  and  witness  the  actual  happiness  resulting 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  29 

from  the  successful  expedients  and  infinite  inge- 
nuity of  the  poor. 

The  practicability  of  the  long-wished-for  journey 
had  been  announced  to  Uncle  Phil,  and  they  were 
entering  upon  deliberations  about  the  outfit,  when 
their  father,  beginning,  as  need  was,  at  the  crown 
of  his  head,  exclaimed,  "  I  declare,  gals,  I  never 
told  you  my  bad  luck  about  my  tother  hat.  I  laid 
it  down  by  the  door  just  for  a  minute  last  Sab- 
bath, and  our  plaguy  pup  run  off  with  it  into  a 
mud-puddle—it  was  the  worse  for  wear  before, 
and  it  looks  like  all  natur  now." 

44  Let  us  look  at  it,  father,"  said  Susan ;  "  there 
are  not  many  people  that  know  you  in  New- York, 
and  maybe  we  can  smooth  it  up  and  make  it  do." 
The  hat  was  brought,  and  examined,  and  heads 
mournfully  shaken  over  it ;  no  domestic  smoothing- 
up  process  would  make  it  decent,  and  decency  was 
to  be  attained.  Suddenly,  Charlotte  remembered 
that  during  her  only  well  week  that  spring,  she 
had  bound  some  hats  for  Mr.  Ellis,  the  hatter,  and 
Susan  was  despatched  to  ascertain  if  her  earnings  • 
amounted  to  enough  to  pay  for  the  re-dressing  of 
her  father's  hat.  Iris  could  scarcely  have  returned 
quicker  than  did  Susan  ;  indeed,  her  little  divinity- 
ship  seldom  went  on  such  pleasant  errands.  "  Ev- 
erybody in  the  world  is  kind  to  us,"  said  Susan, 
as  she  re-entered,  breathless.  "  Mr.  Ellis  has  sent 
full  pay  for  your  work,  Lottie,  and  says  he'll  dress 
father's  hat  over  for  nothing.  I'm  so  glad,  for  now 
you  can  get  a  new  riband  for  your  bonnet." 

44  After  all  the  necessafies  are  provided." 

44  Anybody  but  you,  Lottie,  would  call  that  a 
necessary.     Do  look  at  this  old  dud — all  frayed 
C2 


THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

out.  It  has  been  turned,  and  died,  and  sponged, 
and  now  it  is  not  fit  to  wear  in  Essex — what  will 
they  say  to  it  in  New-York?" 

"  We'll  see,  Susy,  how  we  come  out.  Father's 
Sunday  coat  must  be  turned."  The  coat  was 
turned,  and  the  girls  were  delighted  to  see  it  look 
almost  as  well  as  new  ;  and  even  Susan  was  satis- 
fied to  pay  the  hat-money  to  Sally  Fen,  the  tai- 
loress. 

A  long  deliberation  followed  upon  father's  nether 
garments,  and  they  came  to  the  conclusion  they 
were  quite  too  bad  to  be  worn  where  father  was 
not  known  and  respected.  And,  to  get  new  ones, 
Charlotte  must  give  up  buying  a  new  cloak,  and 
make  her  old  one  do.  There  is  a  lively  pleasure 
in  this  making  do  that  the  rich  know  not  of;  the 
cloak  was  turned,  rebound,  and  new-collared,  and 
Susan  said,  "  Considering  what  a  pretty  colour  it 
was,  and  how  natural  Charlotte  looked  in  it,  she 
did  not  know  but  what  she  liked  it  better  than  a 
new  one."  And  now,  after  Charlotte  had  bleached 
and  remodelled  her  five-year  old  Dunstable,  her 
dress  was  in  order  for  the  expedition — all  but  the 
riband,  on  which  Susan's  mind  was  still  intent. 
"  Not  but  just  ninepence  left,"  said  she  to  Char- 
lotte, after  the  last  little  debt  for  the  outfit  was 
paid.  "  Ninepence  won't  buy  the  riband,  that's 
certain,  though  Mr.  Turner  is  selling  off  so  cheap. 
Why  can't  you  break  into  the  fifty  dollars  ;  I  do 
hate  to  have  you  seen  in  New- York  with  that  old 
riband,  Lottie." 

"  But  I  must,  Susan — for  I  told  Harry  I  would 
not  touch  the  fifty  dollars  till  we  started." 

<f  Well,  give  me  the  ninepence,  then."     Susan's 


A   FRIEND    IN    NEED.  31 

face  brightened.  She  had  resolved,  as  a  last  re- 
sort, to  invest  in  the  riband  a  certain  precious  quar- 
ter of  a  dollar  which  Harry  had  given  her  ages 
and  ages  ago,  and  which  she  had  ever  since  worn 
as  a  locket.  She  left  her  sister  abruptly ;  and,  as 
she  slid  the  coin  from  the  riband,  "  Dear  little 
locket,"  said  she,  "  I  suppose  you  will  seem  to 
other  folks  just  like  any  other  quarter,  and  they 
will  just  pass  you  from  hand  to  hand  without 
thinking  at  all  about  you — how  foolish  I  am !" — she 
dashed  a  tear  from  her  eye — "  Sha'n't  I  love  Harry 
just  as  well,  and  won't  he  love  me  just  as  well, 
and  shaVt  I  think  of  him  more  than  ever  now  he 
has  been  so  kind  to  Lottie,  without  having  this  to 
put  me  in  mind  of  him  ?"  This  point  settled  to 
her  own  satisfaction,  she  turned  as  usual  to  the 
bright  side.  "  How  lucky  Mr.  Turner  is  selling 
off — I  wonder  what  colour  I  had  best  get — Char- 
lotte would  like  brown,  it's  so  durable — but  she 
looks  so  pretty  in  pink.  It  takes  off  her  pale  look, 
and  casts  such  a  rosy  shadow  on  her  cheek.  But 
I  am  afraid  she  will  think  pink  too  gay  for  her." 
Thus  weighing  utility  and  sobriety  against  taste 
and  becomingness,  Susan  entered  the  shop,  and 
walking  up  to  the  counter,  espied  in  a  glass  case 
a  pink  and  brown  plaid  riband.  Her  own  taste 
was  gratified,  and  Charlotte's  economy  and  pref- 
erence of  modest  colours  would  be  satisfied — 
in  short,  it  was  (all  women  will  understand  me) 
just  the  thing.  She  was  satisfied,  delighted,  and, 
had  not  the  master  of  the  shop  kept  her  waiting 
five  minutes,  she  would  have  forgotten  the  inesti- 
mable value  of  that  "  quarter,"  that  in  addition  to 
the  ninepence  must  be  paid.  But  in  five  minute* 


32  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

the  feelings  go  through  many  changes  ;  and,  when 
Mr.  Fuller  said,  "  Here  is  your  riband,  Susan 
May  !"  Susan  was  standing  with  her  back  to  the 
countermand  looking  at  the  "quarter"  as  if  she 
were  studying  it.  She  had  on  a  deep  sun-bonnet ; 
as  she  raised  her  head  it  fell  back  and  disclosed  a 
tear  on  her  cheek,  and  disclosed  it,  too,  to  Harry 
Aikin,  who  had  come  in  unobserved,  and  was 
standing  before  her.  She  hastily  threw  down  the 
money — it  rolled  on  to  the  floor — he  picked  it  up — 
he  recognised  it,  and  at  once  understood  the  whole. 
Susan  left  the  shop  first,  and  we  believe  few  ladies, 
though  they  may  have  spent  hundreds  in  the  splen- 
did shops  of  Broadway,  have  had  half  the  pleasure 
from  their  purchases  that  Susan  May  had  from  the 
acquisition  of  this  two  yards  of  plaid  riband.  We 
ask,  which  was  richest  (in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word),  the  buyer  of  Cashmire  shawls  and  blonde 
capes,  or  our  little  friend  Susan  ?  And  when  Harry, 
overtaking  her  before  she  reached  her  own  door- 
step, restored  the  precious  "  quarter,"  she  was  not 
conscious  of  an  ungratified  wish.  Had  they  been  a 
little  older,  there  might  have  been  some  shyness, 
some  blushes  and  stammerings  ;  but  now,  Susan 
frankly  told  him  her  reluctance  to  part  with  it,  her 
joy  in  getting  it  back  again  ;  and,  suspending  it  by 
its  accustomed  riband,  she  wore  it  ever  after — a 
little  nearer  the  heart  than  before  ! 

Charlotte's  last  obstacle  to  leaving  home  was  re- 
lieved by  an  invitation  from  Harry's  mother  to  Su- 
san, to  pass  the  time  of  her  sister's  absence  with 
her.  "  How  thoughtful  of  Mrs.  Aikin  !"  said  Char- 
lotte, after  she  had  gratefully  accepted  the  invita- 
tion. If  there  were  more  of  this  thoughtfulness,  if 


A  POOR  MAN'S  JOURNEY.  33 

persons  were  more  zealous  to  employ  the  means 
of  little  kindnesses  to  their  fellow-creatures,  if 
they  considered  them  as  members  of  their  own 
family,  really  brothers  and  sisters,  how  many  bur- 
dens would  be  lightened,  what  a  harvest  of  smiles 
we  should  have  on  faces  now  sour  and  steril. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    POOR   MAN'S    JOURNEY. 

IT  was  a  lovely  morning  in  June  when  Uncle 
Phil  set  forth  for  New-York  with  his  invalid 
daughter.  Ineffable  happiness  shone  through  his 
honest  face,  and  there  was  a  slight  flush  of  hope 
and  expectation  on  Charlotte's  usually  pale  and 
tranquil  countenance  as  she  half  rebuked  Susan's 
last  sanguine  expression — 

•'  You  will  come  home  as  well  as  I  am,  I  know 
you  will,  Lottie !" 

"  Not  well — oh,  no,  Susy,  but  better,  I  expect 
— I  mean,  I  hope." 

"  Better,  then,  if  you  are,  that  is  to  say,  a  great 
deal  better — I  shall  be  satisfied,  shaVt  you,  Harry  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  satisfied  that  it  was  best  for  her  to 
go,  if  she  is  any  better." 

"I  trust  we  shall  all  be  satisfied  with  God's 
will,  whatever  it  may  be,"  said  Charlotte,  turn- 
ing her  eye  full  of  gratitude  upon  Harry.  Har- 
ry arranged  her  cushions  as  nobody  else  could 


34  THE    I*t)OR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

to  support  her  weak  back ;  Susan  disposed  her 
cloak  so  that  Charlotte  could  draw  it  around  her  if 
the  air  proved  too  fresh  ;  and  then,  taking  her  wil- 
low basket  in  her  hand,  the  last  words  were  spo- 
ken, and  they  set  forth.  Uncle  Phil  was  in  the 
happiest  of  his  happy  humours.  He  commended 
the  wagon — "  it  was  just  like  sitting  at  home  in  a 
rocking-chair — it  is  kind  o'  lucky  that  you  are 
lame,  Lottie,  or  maybe  Mrs.  Sibley  would  not  have 
offered  to  loan  us  her  wagon.  I  was  dreadful 
fraid  we  should  have  to  go  down  the  North  River. 
I  tell  you,  Lottie,  when  I  crossed  over  it  once,  I 
was  a  most  scared  to  death — the  water  went  swash, 
swash — there  was  nothing  but  a  plank  between 
me  and  etarnity ;  and  I  thought  in  my  heart  I  should 
have  gone  down,  and  nobody  would  ever  have 
heard  of  me  again.  I  wonder  folks  can  be  so 
foolish  as  to  go  on  water  when  they  can  travel  on 
solid  land — but  I  suppose  some  do !" 

"  It  is  pleasanter,"  said  Charlotte,  "  to  travel  at 
this  season  where  you  can  see  the  beautiful  fruits 
of  the  earth,  as  we  do  now,  on  all  sides  of  us." 
Uncle  Phil  replied  and  talked  on  without  disturbing 
his  daughter's  quiet  and  meditation.  They  travell- 
ed slowly,  but  he  was  never  impatient,  and  she 
never  wearied,  for  she  was  an  observer  and  lover 
of  nature.  The  earth  was  clothed  with  its  richest 
green — was  all  green,  but  of  infinitely  varied  teints. 
The  young  corn  was  shooting  forth — the  winter 
wheat  already  waved  over  many  a  fertile  hillside 
— the  gardens  were  newly  made,  and  clean,  and 
full  of  promise — flowers,  in  this  month  of  then 
abundance,  perfumed  the  woods,  and  decked  the. 
gardens  and  courtyards,  and  where  nothing  else 


A  POOR  MAN'S  JOURNEY.  35 

grew,  there  were  lilachs  and  pionies  in  plenty. 
The  young  lambs  were  frolicking  in  the  fields—- 
the chickens  peeping  about  the  barnyards;  and 
birds,  thousands  of  them,  singing  at  their  work. 

Our  travellers  were  descending  a  mountain 
where  their  view  extended  over  an  immense  tract 
of  country,  for  the  most  part  richly  cultivated. 

"  I  declare,"  exclaimed  Uncle  Phil,  "  how  much 
land  there  is  in  the  world,  and  I  don't  own  a  foot 
on't,  only  our  little  half-acre  lot — it  don't  seem 
hardly  right."  Uncle  Phil  was  no  agrarian,  and 
he  immediately  added,  "  But,  after  all,  I  guess  I 
am  better  off  without  it — it  would  be  a  dreadful 
care." 

"  Contentment  with  godliness  is  great  gain," 
said  Charlotte. 

"  You've  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  Lottie  ;  I  don't 
know  who  should  be  contented  if  I  ain't — I  al- 
ways have  enough,  and  everybody  is  friendly  to 
me — and  you  and  Susan  are  worth  a  mint  of  money 
to  me.  For  all  what  I  said  about  the  land,  I  really 
think  I  have  got  my  full  share." 

"  We  can  all  have  our  share  in  the  beauties  of 
God's  earth  without  owning,  as  you  say,  a  foot  of 
it,"  rejoined  Charlotte.  "We  must  feel  it  is  our 
father's.  I  am  sure  the  richest  man  in  the  world 
cannot  take  more  pleasure  in  looking  at  a  beautiful 
prospect  than  I  do — or  in  breathing  this  sweet, 
sweet  air.  It  seems  to  me,  father,  as  if  every  thing 
I  look  upon  was  ready  to  burst  forth  in  a  hymn  of 
praise — and  there  'is  enough  in  my  heart  to  make 
verses  of  if  I  only  knew  how." 

"•  That's  the  mystery,  Lottie,  how  they  do  it — 


36  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

I  can  make  one  line,  but  I  can  never  get  a  fellow 
to  it." 

u  Well,  father,  as  Susy  would  say,  it's  a  comfort 
to  have  the  feeling,  though  you  can't  express  it." 

Charlotte  was  right.  It  is  a  great  comfort  and 
happiness  to  have  the  feeling,  and  happy  would  it 
be  if  those  who  live  in  the  country  were  more  sen- 
sible to  the  beauties  of  nature  ;  if  they  could  see 
something  in  the  glorious  forest  besides  "good 
wood  and  timber  lots" — something  in  the  green  val- 
ley besides  a  "  warm  soil" — something  in  a  water- 
fall besides  a  "  mill-privilege."  There  is  a  suscepti- 
bility in  every  human  heart  to  the  ever-present  and 
abounding  beauties  of  nature ;  and  whose  fault  is 
it  that  this  taste  is  not  awakened  and  directed?  If 
the  poet  and  the  painter  cannot  bring  down  their 
arts  to  the  level  of  the  poor,  are  there  none  to  be 
God's  interpreters  to  them — to  teach  them  to  read 
the  great  book  of  nature  ? 

The  labouring  classes  ought  not  to  lose  the 
pleasures  that,  in  the  country,  are  before  them 
from  dawn  to  twilight—pleasures  that  might  coun- 
terbalance, and  often  do,  the  profits  of  the  mer- 
chant, pent  in  his  city  counting-house  ;  and  all  the 
honours  the  lawyer  earns  between  the  court-rooms 
and  his  office.  We  only  wish  that  more  was  made 
of  the  privilege  of  country  life ;  that  the  farmer's 
wife  would  steal  some  moments  from  her  cares 
to  point  out  to  her  children  the  beauties  of  nature, 
whether  amid  the  hills  and  valleys  of  our  inland 
country,  or  on  the  sublime  shores  of  the  ocean. 
Over  the  city,  too,  hangs  the  vault  of  heaven — 
"  thick  inlaid"  with  the  witnesses  of  God's  power 
and  goodness — his  altars  are  everywhere. 


CHARLOTTE'S  RETURN.  •     37 

The  rich  man  who  "  lives  at  home  at  ease,"  and 
goes  irritated  and  fretting  through  the  country  be- 
cause he  misses  at  the  taverns  the  luxuries  of  his 
own  house — who  finds  the  tea  bad  and  coffee  worse 
— the  food  ill  cooked  and  table  ill  served — no  mat- 
tresses, no  silver  forks — who  is  obliged  to  endure 
the  vulgarity  of  a  common  parlour — and,  in  spite  of 
the  inward  charing,  give  a  civil  answer  to  whatev- 
er questions  may  be  put  to  him,  cannot  conceive  of 
the  luxuries  our  travellers  enjoyed  at  the  simplest 
inn. 

Uncle  Phil  found  out  the  little  histories  of  all  the 
wayfarers  he  met,  and  frankly  told  his  own.  Char- 
lotte's pale  sweet  face  attracted  general  sympathy. 
Country  people  have  time  for  little  by-the-way 
kindnesses  ;  and  the  landlady,  and  her  daughters, 
and  her  domestics  inquired  into  Charlotte's  malady, 
suggested  remedies,  and  described  similar  cases. 

The  open-hearted  communicativeness  of  our 
people  is  often  laughed  at ;  but  is  it  not  a  sign  of  a 
blameless  life  and  social  spirit  1 


CHAPTER  V. 
CHARLOTTE'S  RETURN. 

'  ON  the  very  day  she  had  appointed  before  leav- 
ing home,  Charlotte,  by  dint  of  arranging  for  her 
father,  giving  him  now  a  hint  and  now  an  impulse, 
returned  there.  Susan  had  opened,  swept,  and 
D 


38  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,   ETC. 

garnished  the  house  with  plenty  of  laurels  and 
roses,  and  Mrs.  Aikin  and  some  other  kind  matrons 
had  sent  in  a  store  of  provisions,  so  that  Susan 
spread  her  tea-table  with  the  abundance  and  varie^ 
ty  that  characterize  the  evening  meal  in  New- 
England. 

Fresh  biscuit  and  cookies,  cherry-pie,  smoked 
beef,  stewed  currants,  peppergrass,  cheese,  and 
radishes,  were  on  the  table — the  tea-kettle  hissing 
a  welcome  over  the  fire,  and  Susan  and  Harry 
standing  at  the  door  and  gazing  at  a  turn  in  the 
road,  where,  between  two  branching  elms  that  im- 
bowered  it,  appeared  Uncle  Phil's  wagon,  and  Char- 
lotte was  soon  folded  in  the  arms  of  her  loving  sis- 
ter, and  receiving  a  welcome  nowise  less  joyful 
from  Harry. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Uncle  Phil,  after  the  first  sal- 
utations were  passed,  surveying  the  table  with 
ineffable  satisfaction,  "you've  set  out  what  I  call 
a  tea,  Susy.  You  beat  'em  all  in  York — they  live 
dreadful  poor  down  there.  To  be  sure,  your  Aunt 
Betsey  lives  in  a  brick  house,  and  has  a  sight  of 
furniture,  and  a  gimcrack  of  a  timepiece  on  her 
mantelpiece  (it  don't  go  half  so  true  as  our  old 
wooden  one),  and  high  plated  candlesticks,  and 
such  knick-knacks  ;  yet  she  has  all  her  bread  to 
buy  by  the  loaf,  and  the  milk  is  sky-blue  ;  as  to 
cream,  I  don't  believe  they  ever  heard  on't.  Cakes 
and  pies  are  scarce,  I  tell  you.  I  don't  believe 
peppergrass  has  come  there  yet,  for  I  never  saw  a 
spear  of  it  on  the  table,  nor  a  speck  of  cheese. 
But  the  worst  of  all  is  the  water.  Poor  Jock 
would  have  choked  before  he  would  have  drank 
a  drop  of  it;  and  they  live  in  such  a  dust  and 


CHARLOTTE'S  RETURN.  39 

hurra,  I  tho't  when  we  drove  in  it  was  gineral 
training ;  but  they  carried  on  so  every  day  ; — and 
then  there  is  such  a  stifled-up  feeling — I  did  pity 
'em." 

Persons  capable  of  more  accurate  comparison 
than  Uncle  Phil,  may  well  pity  those  who,  when 
summer  is  in  its  beauty,  are  shut  up  within  the 
walls  of  a  city,  deprived  of  the  greatest  of  all  lux- 
uries, which  even  the  poorest  country  people  en- 
joy— sweet  air,  ample  space,  pure  water,  and 
quiet  only  broken  by  pleasant  sounds. 

And  often,  too,  have  we  felt  a  pity  for  the  citi- 
zen similar  to  Uncle  Phil's,  when  we  have  com- 
pared the  tea-table  of  those  we  call  poor  in  the 
country  with  the  uninviting  evening  meal  of  the 
affluent  in  town.  "  Ah,  father,"  replied  Susan, 
"  you  must  remember  we  don't  set  out  such  a  table 
very  often  here.  I  am  sure  I  never  could  if  we 
had  not  such  kind  neighbours  ;  but,  when  they 
are  kind,  it  don't  seem  to  me  to  make  much  differ- 
ence whether  you  are  rich  or  poor." 

Susan's  simple  remark  had  an  important  bearing 
on  that  great  subject  of  inequality  of  condition, 
which  puzzles  the  philosopher,  and  sometimes  dis- 
turbs the  Christian.  But  did  not  our  happy  little 
friend  suggest  a  solution  to  the  riddle  ?  Has  not 
Providence  made  this  inequality  the  necessary 
result  of  the  human  condition,  and  is  not  the  true 
agrarian  principle  to  be  found  in  the  voluntary 
exercise  of  those  virtues  that  produce  an  inter- 
change of  benevolent  offices  ?  If  there  were  a  per- 
fect community  of  goods,  where  would  be  the  op- 
portunity for  the  exercise  of  the  virtues,  of  justice, 
and  mercy,  humility,  fidelity,  and  gratitude?  If 


40  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

the  rights  of  the  poor  of  all  classes  were  univer 
sally  acknowledged,  if  intellectual  and  moral  edu- 
cation were  what  they  should  be,  the  deaf  would 
hear,  and  the  blind  would  see ;  and  the  rich  man 
would  no  longer  look  with  fear  upon  the  poor  man, 
nor  the  poor  man  with  envy  on  the  rich.  This 
true  millennium  is  on  its  way.  "  Blessed  are  those 
who  wait !" 

Our  friends  were  soon  seated  at  their  tempting 
tea-table,  where  Susan  tried  to  busy  herself  with 
her  duties,  but  her  eyes  continually  rested  on  her 
sister's  pale  face,  and  it  was  all  she  could  do  to 
repress  her  tears  and  speak  cheerfully  when  she 
saw  plain  indications  that  Charlotte  had  not  reaped 
the  advantage  from  her  journey  that  they  had  too 
sanguinely  expected.  She  perceived  that  Char- 
lotte, instead  of  tasting  the  delicacies  prepared  foi 
her,  declined  them  all,  even  the  warm  biscuit  and 
cherry-pie,  and  the  radishes  too,  which  she  partic- 
ularly liked,  and  made  her  meal  of  a  cracker  she 
took  from  her  bag,  and  a  glass  of  water.  Susan 
dared  not  trust  her  voice  to  ask  questions  ;  Char- 
lotte made  no  explanations  ;  Harry's  eyes  followed 
Susan's,  but  he  was  silent ;  and  Uncle  Phil,  too 
happy  at  getting  home  to  observe  the  feelings  of 
the  parties,  merely  murmured  once  when  Charlotte 
refused  the  cake,  "  Them  New- York  doctors  are 
dum  notional !" 

When  the  tea  was  over,  Susan  could  bear  it  no 
longer;  and  the  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes,  she 
said,  "  Oh,  Lottie,  'tis  a  comfort  to  get  you  home., 
though  you  an't  cured."  The  ice  was  now  broken 
and  Charlotte,  much  refreshed  by  her  simple  meal, 
proceeded  to  relate  the  circumstances  of  her  jour 


CHARLOTTE'S  RETURN.  41 

ney  ;  but,  as  her  narrative  was  prolonged  by  di- 
gressions, and  broken  by  the  comments  of  her 
eager  listeners,  we  shall  give  its  purport  briefly. 

The  pleasure  of  the  journey,  and  the  hope  of  a 
cure  from  the  far-famed  New- York  doctor,  wrought 
wonders  on  Charlotte's  feeble  frame  ;  and  when 
she  arrived  at  her  aunt's,  she  felt  more  strength 
and  ease  than  she  had  experienced  for  years  ;  and, 
but  for  certain  sharp  twinges,  she  said  she  should 
have  saved  Harry's  money  and  not  consulted  the 
doctor.  The  doctor,  however,  was  summoned,  and 
seemed  at  once  inspired  with  an  interest  for  his 
humble  patient  that  was  hardly  to  be  expected  from 
a  man  at  the  head  of  his  profession,  and  whose 
attendance  was  sought  at  every  moment  by  the 

,first  in  the  land.  But  Dr. was  no  common 

man,  and  was  a  most  rare  physician.  He  studied 
the  mind  as  well  as  the  body;  he  endeavoured  to 
comprehend  their  delicate  relations  and  bearings 
upon  each  other,  and  in  his  profession  he  minis- 
tered to  both.  He  was  a  religious  man  in  princi- 
ple, and  earnestly  so  in  feeling ;  and,  by  getting 
into  the  hearts  of  his  patients — into  the  inner  tem- 
ple, by  addressing  them  as  religious  beings,  by 
rousing  their  faith  and  fortitude,  or  their  submis- 
sion arid  patience,  "  he  was  sure,"  as  Charlotte 
said,  to  find  a  medicine  that  would  do  them  good, 
if  all  drugs  failed ;  and,  if  the  case  was  curable, 
his  prescriptions  operated  like  the  old  woman's 
herb,  that  **  with  a  blessing  always  cured." 

After  an  examination,  he  ascertained  Charlotte's 

malady  to  a  certainty,  and  that  it  was  incurable  ; 

but  he  did  not  shock  her  by  at  once  telling  her 

this.     He  visited  her  repeatedly,  talked  patiently 

D2 


42  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

over  that  subject  so  interesting  to  all  valetudina* 
rians,  the  long  history  of  her  sickness.  Thus,  by 
degrees,  he  learned  what  he  was  studying — the 
constitution  of  her  mind.  He  found  she  was  judi- 
cious, rational,  self-denying,  steadfast,  humble,  and 
patient ;  and  he  then  proceeded  to  give  his  advice, 
not  with  the  promise  of  curing  her,  but  with  the 
well-grounded  expectation  of  protracting  her  life, 
and  rendering  it  comparatively  comfortable  to  her- 
self and  useful  to  others.  After  having  gradually 
prepared  her  for  his  opinion, he  told  it,  and  found,  as 
he  expectedj  that  her  mind  was  soon  made  up  to  the 
defeat  of  her  hopes,  and  to  the  certainty  of  endu- 
ring through  life  a  very  painful  disease  ;  and  not 
merely  because  it  was  an  inevitable  calamity,  for 
when  she  could  trust  her  voice  to  speak,  she  said, 

"  I  can  yet  say,  sir,  God's  will  be  done !  but  I 
am  so  sorry  for  Susy's  and  Harry's  disappointment !" 

"  I  am  very  sorry  too,"  said  the  kind  doctor, 
wiping  his  eyes  ;  "  but  it  is  better  for  them,  as 
well  as  for  you,  that  you  should  all  know  the  real 
state  of  the  case." 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  far  better ;  for  I  know  it  is  much 
easier  to  endure  when  we  are  certain  there  is  no 
help  for  us." 

"  Your  case  is  not  so  bad  as  that,  my  child  ;  I 
said  there  was  no  cure ;  there  is  helpt  if  you  will 
strictly  adhere  to  the  directions  I  give  you  ;  but  it 
will  be  time  enough  for  that  to-morrow.  I  now 
leave  you  to  rest,  and  to  seek  help  and  consolation 
where,  I  am  sure,  from  your  prompt  submission, 
you  are  in  the  habit  of  going  for  it." 

"  I  am,  sir,  and  it  never  fails  me." 

"  And  it  never  will,  my  child.     Happy  is  it  for 


CHARLOTTE'S  RETURN.  43 

doctors  and  patients,  when  they  are  both  in  habits 
of  dependance  on  the  Great  Physician." 

The  next  day  Charlotte  met  the  doctor  with  a 
peaceful  smile  on  her  face.  The  flush  of  hope 
had  faded  from  her  cheek,  but  the  sweet  light  of 
resignation  was  there. 

"  You  have  been  to  the  unfailing  source  of 
strength  and  peace,  my  child,"  said  the  doctor, 
•'  and  now  sit  down,  and  we  will  talk  over  what  is 
best  for  the  future.  You  have  been,  as  you  have 
told  me,  all  your  life  in  the  habit  of  taking  medi- 
cines from  various  doctors — now  a  sirup  is  rec- 
ommended, now  a  mixture ;  now  these  pills,  and 
now  those ;  now  some  new  foreign  medicine,  and 
now  an  Indian  doctor's  nostrums  ;  and,  worse  than 
all,  every*  now  and  then  a  course  of  medicine. 
Henceforth  take  no  more  of  it,  of  any  sort ;  it  has 
no  more  tendency  to  remove  your  disease  than  it 
would  have  to  restore  your  leg  if  it  had  been  sawn 
off  and  thrown  away.  Medicines,  drugs,  my  child, 
are  all  poisons.  We  are.  obliged  to  give  them  to 
arrest  the  progress  of  acute  diseases  ;  but,  in  chron- 
ic diseases,  instead  of  curing,  they  obstruct  and 
clog  the  efforts  of  nature,  and  confound  her  opera- 
tions. They  debilitate  the  stomach,  and  produce  a 
thousand  of  what  you  call  'bad  feelings,'  evils  often 
worse  than  the  malady  they  are  employed  to  cure. 
I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  my  child ;  the  older  we  doctors 
grow,  the  less  medicine  we  give  ;  and,  though  the 
world  is  slow  to  get  wisdom,  drugs  are  much  less 
in  fashion  than  when  I  was  a  young  man.  Don't 
be  persuaded  to  try  this  and  try  that  ;  each  dose 
may  do  you  harm,  and  cannot  possibly  do  you  any 
good*  Poor  people  do  not  know  what  an  advan 


44  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

tage  they  have  over  the  rich,  in  not  being  able  to  call 
the  doctor  for  every  finger-ache,  or  to  keep  a  well- 
furnished  medicine-chest  in  their  houses.  I  am  no 
wizard,  but  I  can  usually  tell  by  the  looks  of  the 
family  whether  there  are  plenty  of  labelled  vials  in 
the  cupboard.  The  poor  have  many  facilities  for 
health  over  the  rich ;  I  speak  of  the  comparatively 
poor — thank  God,  there  are  few  in  our  country  that 
would  be  called  poor  in  other  lands — few  who  can- 
not obtain  healthful  food,  and  plenty  of  it.  They 
are  not,  like  the  rich,  tempted  to  excess  by  various 
and  delicately-cooked  dishes ;  but,  then,  from  igno- 
rance or  carelessness,  they  do  not  properly  pre- 
pare their  food  ;  you  have  heard  the  old  proverb, 
my  child — its  meaning  is  too  true — '  the  Lord  sends 
meats,  but  the  devil  sends  cooks.'  The  poor 
man's  flour  is  as  wholesome  as  the  rich  man's,  but 
his  wife  makes  her  bread  carelessly,  and  it  is  sour 
or  heavy,  or  eaten  hot,  and  about  as  digestible  as 
brick-bats.  A  poor  woman,  for  want  of  a  little 
forethought  and  arrangement,  gets  her  work  into  a 
snarl ;  meal-time  is  at  hand — her  husband  coming 
in  from  his  work — children  hungry — she  makes  a 
little  short-cake,  or  claps  down  before  the  fire  in  a 
spider  some  half-risen  dough— is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  Dear  me  !  yes,  sir — but  how  should  you  know 
it?" 

"  A  physician  sees  every  mode  of  life,  and 
learns  much  in  his  profession  by  observing  them. 
Such  bread  as  I  have  described,  I  have  seen  ac- 
companied with  cucumbers,  Dutch  cheese,  fried 
cakes,  and  messes  of  meat  done  up  in  grease. 
Half  the  fine  gentlemen  and  nervous  ladies  in  our 
city  would  have  been  thrown  into  fits  or  fevers 


CHARLOTTE'S  RETURN.  45 

by  one  such  meal.  The  poor  are  saved  by  the 
invigorating  effect  of  labour  in  the  open  air — when 
they  are  saved — but  sickness  and  death  often  ensue. 

"Among  all  our  benevolent  societies,  i  wish  there 
was  one  for  teaching  the  poor  the  arts  of  health — 
to  begin  with  cooking  well  plain  food.  Why,  if 
our  poor  knew  how  to  manage  their  means  of 
health  and  comfort,  they  might  live  as  if  they 
were  in  paradise.  A  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body 
will  make  almost  a  paradise  even  of  this  rough- 
going  world.'.' 

"  I  should  think  so,  sir,"  said  Charlotte,  with  a 
sigh ;  "  but,"  she  added,  modestly,  "  I  hope,  doc- 
tor, you  do  not  think  we  live  at  home  in  the  way 
you  have  described  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  my  child,  certainly  not,  by  no  means." 

"Indeed,  we  do  not,  sir;  though  I  was  only 
thirteen,  and  my  little  sister,  our  Susy,  nine,  when 
mother  died,  she  had  taught  us  to  make  her  good 
bread.  I  mixed  it,  and  Susy,  a  strong  child,  kneaded 
it :  we  always  calculate  to  have  light  bread  and 
good  butter.  We  always  have  meat,  for  father 
thinks  he  can't  do  without  it  three  times  a  day. 
Susy  is  a  hearty  eater,  too — my  appetite  is  poor, 
but  our  neighbours  are  very  considerate,  and  I'm 
seldom  without  pie,  or  cake,  or  preserves,  or  some- 
thing relishing.  You  smile,  sir — I  don't  wish  to 
have  you  think  we  live  daintily — I  don't  know 
how  it  is  in  cities,  but  country  people  are  thought- 
ful of  one  another,  and  any  one  out  of  health  has 
such  things  sent  in." 

"  Pies,  cakes,  and  preserves?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  things  that  taste  pleasant,  and  are 
kind  of  nourishing." 


46  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN»   ETC. 

"  Nourishing  to  the  disease,  my  poor  child,  not 
to  the  patient.  Pies,  cakes,  and  sweetmeats  are 
only  fit  for  the  healthy,  and  for  those  who  can 
labour,  or  exercise,  a  name  that,  as  somebody  says, 
the  rich  give  to  their  labour.  No  ;  if  you  mean  tro 
enjoy  all  the  comfort  your  case  admits  of,  you 
must  discard  these  nice  things. 

61  I  can,  sir,  if  it  is  duty." 

"  I  do  not  doubt,  my  child,  that  you  both  can  and 
will  do  whatever  you  believe  to  be  duty,  and  I 
must  have  great  confidence  in  those  whom  I  be- 
lieve able  to  subdue  their  appetites  to  perfect  obe- 
dience in  these  matters.  You  will  make  it  a  re- 
ligious duty — most  persons  are  enslaved  by  their 
appetites,  because  they  do  not  bring  their  reli- 
gion to  bear  upon  such  a  small  matter  as  eat- 
ing or  not  eating  a  bit  of  pie.  The  light  of  the 
sun  is  as  essential  to  the  hut  as  to  the  palace  ;  so 
religion  is  as  necessary  to  help  us  through  small 
duties  as  great ;  it  is  easier  to  suffer  martyrdom 
with  its  help,  than  to  make  a  temperate  meal  with- 
out it.  But  there  is  no  need  of  all  this  preaching 
to  you,  my  child  ;  you,  I  am  sure,  will  cheerfully 
do  whatever  is  necessary  to  preserve  the  faculties 
of  your  mind  and  body." 

"  I  calculate  to  try  to  do  what  is  about  right, 
sir." 

"  And  that  is  the  best  possible  calculation,  and 
will  lead  to  the  very  best  result.  There  is  nothing 
for  me  to  do  but  to  tell  you  how,  in  my  opinion, 
you  can  best  do  your  duty  to  your  body — a  poor 
infirm  casket  it  is,  but  it  contains  an  immortal 
treasure,  and  must  therefore  be  taken  good  care 
of." 


"CHARLOTTE'S  RETURN.  47 

It  is  not  necessary  to  give  the  doctors  direc- 
tions, in  regard  to  Charlotte's  food,  in  detail.  Her 
diet  was  to  consist  of  plain  food,  plainly  dressed  ; 
and  when  he  finished,  Charlotte  said,  with  a  smile, 

"  As  to  eating,  sir,  I  shall  be  as  well  off  as  if  I 
were  the  richest  lady  in  the  land,  for  I  can  easily 
get  the  food  you  think  convenient  for  me." 

"  As  well  off,  arid  far  better,  my  dear  child  ;  I 
have  many  rich  patients  to  whom  I  make  the  same 
prescription  ;  but,  surrounded  as  they  are  by  tempt- 
ing luxuries,  they  are  for  ever  transgressing  and 
suffering — they  do  not  enough  take  to  heart  the 
wise  saying,  that  they  that  do  the  things  that 
please  the  Lord  shall  receive  of  the  fruit  of  the 
tree  of  immortality.  But,  Miss  Charlotte,  there  are 
other  matters  besides  eating  to  which  you  must  be 
attentive  ;  gentle  and  regular  exercise  you  must 
have — riding  will  not  suit  you." 

"  That's  a  real  mercy,  sir ;  for,  since  father  has 
lost  his  horse,  I  have  no  way  to  ride." 

"  You  have  a  little  house-keeping,  what  the 
women  call  stirring  about,  to  do — sweeping,  wash- 
ing dishes,  setting  tables,  and  so  on  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  I  have  let  our  Susy  do  it;  and, 
when  I  was  able,  taken  in  sewing,  because  that 
brought  us  in  a  little  money." 

"  You  must  not  sit  at  your  needle  ;  none  but  the 
strong  can  bear  that.  Your  little  hardy  sister 
must  take  that  part." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  comfort,  as  Susy  would  herself 
say,  for  I  want  her  to  learn  the  tailoress'  trade, 
and  Miss  Sally  Baker  had  agreed  to  teach  her  for 
the  rent  of  our  back  room." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  the  doctor,  entering  with 


48  THE    POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

the  most  benevolent  interest  into  Charlotte's  plans, 
"  let  Miss  Sally  have  the  back  room;  then  Susy 
will  be  handy  to  call  upon  to  do  the  heavier  work, 
for  you  must  not  lift,  or  do  any  thing  that  requires 
strength — but  I  have  observed  that  you  women- 
folk can  keep  yourselves  busy  about  what  we 
men  can't  describe,  nor  even  comprehend.  Your 
housework  is  a  source  of  contentment — a  rich  lady 
of  my  acquaintance  says  she  envies  her  servants 
who  have  kitchen-work  to  go  to  in  all  their  troubles." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,  sir ;  but  it  does  lighten 
the  heart  to  stir  about,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  make 
the  most  of  a  little,  and  have  things  orderly  and 
comfortable." 

"  Oh  yes,  my  child ;  the  world  is  full  of  these 
small  provisions  for  our  happiness  if  we  had  but 
eyes  to  see  them  and  hearts  to  feel  them.  But 
let  me  proceed  to  my  prescriptions.  You  must 
wear  flannel  drawers  and  a  flannel  waistcoat  with 
sleeves  all  the  year  round.  This  to  an  invalid  is, 
in  our  varying  climate,  essential,  for  in  no  other 
way  can  the  skin  be  kept  of  a  warm  and  regular 
temperature.*  Can  you  procure  the  flannel,  my 
child?" 

"  I  think  I  can,  sir ;  Susy  and  I  calculated  to 
get  us  new  woollen  gowns  next  winter,  but  I  guess 
we  can  make  the  old  ones  do." 

"  That's  right,  my  dear.  If  I  could  only  per- 
suade those  who  can't  afford  to  get  every  thing,  to 
dispense  with  new  outside  garments,  and  furnish 
themselves  with  plenty  of  flannel,  I  would  promise 

*  A  friend  of  mine  proposes  that  New-England  artists  should 
paint  the  goddess  of  health  with  flannel  drawers  in  Her  hand. 


CHARLOTTE'S  RETURN.  49 

to  save  them  half  their  doctors'  bills."  The  doc- 
tor then  proceeded  to  a  prescription  which,  at  first, 
seemed  very  extraordinary  to  Charlotte  ;  but  he 
urged  it  so  strenuously,  and  told  her  that  he  knew  it 
from  experience  to  be  of  the  first  importance  in  pre- 
serving the  health  of  the  healthy,  and  strengthen- 
ing the  invalid,  that  she  resolved,  whatever  trouble 
it  might  cost  her,  to  follow  strictly  his  advice.  • 
This  advice  was,  that  she  should  every  day  bathe 
her  whole  person  in  cold  water,  and  rub  her  skin 
till  it  was  dry  and  warm.  He  knew  she  had  not 
conveniences  for  bathing,  but  this  might  be  effected 
with  a  tub,  or  even  a  basin  of  water,  and  a  sponge. 
Charlotte  afterward^  and  after  long  experience, 
acknowledged  that  this  simple  prescription  had 
done  her  more  good  than  all  the  medicine  she  had 
ever  taken.  Finally,  the  doctor  charged  her  not 
to  wear  at  night  the  garments  she  wore  in  the 
day ;  not  to  make  up  her  bed  till  it  was  thoroughly 
aired  ;  not  to  be  afraid  of  fresh  air ;  to  let  plenty 
of  it  into  the  house  ;  and  especially,  if  at  any  time 
she  was  so  much  indisposed  as  to  be  confined  to 
her  bed,  to  have  tl^e  air  of  her  room  constantly 
changed.  He  said  people  suffered  more  from 
inattention  to  cleanliness  and  fresh  air,  than  from 
any  necessary  physical  evils.  "  I  cannot,"  he  said, 
in  conclusion,  "  but  observe  the  goodness  of  Provi- 
dence in  making  those  things  which  are  essential 
to  health  accessible  to  all ;  I  mean,  to  all  the  native 
population  of  our  country ;  for  they  can  have  all 
that  I  have  prescribed  for  you,  Miss  Charlotte  ; 
abundance  of  simple,  nourishing  food,  warm  gar- 
ments, plenty  of  clean  water,  and  pure  air;  the 
E 


50  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

two  last  articles,  more  valuable  than  all  the  gold 
of  Peru,  are  sadly  undervalued  and  neglected." 

At  first  it  must  be  confessed  that  Charlotte  was 
disappointed  that  the  doctor  prescribed  no  medi- 
cine, no  plaster,  nothing  from  which  she  might  ex- 
pect sudden  relief ;  but  she  soon  looked  calmly 
and  submissively  at  the  case  as  it  was,  and  receiv- 
ed most  thankfully  the  prospect  of  alleviation. 

Dr. inspired  her  with  entire  confidence  ;  and 

afterward,  in  relating  the  story  to  Susan  and  Harry 
of  her  long  interviews  with  him,  she  said  it  seem- 
ed to  her  mysterious  he  took  such  an  interest  in 
her.  To  them  it  did  not,  nor  could  it  to  any  one 
who  knew  the  sweetly  patient  sufferer,  nor  to  any 

one  who  knew  Dr. ,  and  knew  that  he  valued 

his  profession  chiefly  as  enlarging  his  means  of 
doing  moral  and  physical  good  to  his  fellow-crea- 
tures. 

"  And  only  think,"  said  Charlotte,  in  conclusion, 
taking  from  her  trunk  a  note  which  she  had  wrap- 
ped in  her  handkerchief,  that  it  might  get  no  spot 
or  blemish  on  it,  "only  think,  after  all,  after  his 
coming  to  see  me  six  times,  and  staying  as  long  as 
if  he  had  been  a  common  doctor,  and  had  not  any 
other  patient,  only  think  of  his  sending  me  this  bil- 
let at  last." 

In  justice  to  Charlotte,  we  shall  first  give  her 
note  to  the  doctor,  as  we  think  it  marks  the  digni- 
ty, integrity,  and  simplicity  of  her  character. 

"  HONOURED  SIR — As  father  and  I  have  conclu- 
ded to  leave  to-morrow,  will  be  much  obliged  if 
you  will  send  in  your  bill  this  afternoon,  if  conve- 
nient. As,  from  all  that's  passed,  sir,  you  may  con- 


CHARLOTTE  S    RETURN.  51 

elude  that  I  ain't  in  circumstances  to  pay  down,  I 
would  make  bold  to  say  that  you  need  not  scruple, 
as  I  have  a  large  sum  of  money  by  me,  given  to 
me  by  my  best  friend,  father  and  Susan  excepted. 
Father  sends  his  respectful  duty  to  you,  sir,  and  I 
mine,  with  many  thanks  ;  but  neither  money  nor 
thanks  can  pay  your  kindness ;  and  daily,  respected 
sir,  shall  I  ease  my  heart  by  remembering  you  in 
my  prayers  at  the  throne  of  grace,  where  we  must 
all  appear  alike  poor  and  needy,  but  where  may 
yon  ever  come  with  a  sure  foundation  of  hope, 
through  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ. 

*<I  remain,  sir,  your  faithful  friend  and  well- 
wisher,  CHARLOTTE  MAY." 

To  which  note  the  doctor  replied — 

"  MY  GOOD  FRIEND  CHARLOTTE — I  shall  preface 
my  answer  to  your  note  with  letting  you  a  little 
into  my  professional  affairs.  I  do  not  make  it  a  rule 
to  attend  the  poor  gratuitously,  for  many  reasons  ; 
but  principally  because  I  have  observed  that  what 
is  got  for  nothing  is  seldom  valued.  I  only  take 
care  to  charge  thein  according  to  their  ability  to 
pay.  You,  my  child,  are  an  exception  to  most  of 
my  patients— you  have  given  me  a  lesson  of  meek 
and  cheerful  submission  that  is  inestimable — I  am 
your  debtor,  not  you  mine.  Besides,  strictly,  I 
have  no  doctor's  account  against  you.  I  have  pre- 
scribed no  medicine,  and  given  you  no  advice  that 
any  man  of  sense  and  experience  might  not  have 
given  ;  therefore,  my  good  girl,  I  have  no  claim  on 
that  '  large  sum  of  money?  which,  God  bless  your 
*  best  friend'  for  having  given  you.  But  forget 


52  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC- 

not,  my  friend,  your  promise  to  remember  me  in 
your  prayers  ;  I  have  much  faith  in  the  '  prayers 
of  saints.'  My  parting  regards  to  your  good  fa- 
ther, and  please  deliver  the  accompanying  parcels 
as  directed.  They  are  from  my  son  and  daughter, 
who  hastily  join  me  in  esteem  for  you  and  yours. 
God  bless  you,  my  dear  child. 
"  Your  sincere  friend, 


One  parcel  was  directed  "  To  Miss  Charlotte 
May's  sister  Susy"  and  the  other,  "  To  Miss  Char- 
lotte May's  '  best  friend,  father  and  Susy  except- 
ed.'  "  The  contents  of  Susan's  parcel  proved  to  be 
material  for  a  nice  winter  dress  (which,  on  meas- 
urement, turned  out  an  abundance  for  two) ;  and 
Harry's  that  capital  manual  for  Americans,  Selec- 
tions from  the  Works  of  Franklin.  Those  who 
have  returned  from  a  journey  with  love-tokens  in 
the  trunk  for  the  dear  ones  at  home,  can  sympa- 
thize in  the  pleasure  and  gratitude  of  our  humble 
friends. 

One  word  more,  and  the  affair  of  the  journey  is 
finished.  Twenty  dollars  were  left  of  Harry's  gift 
after  all  the  expenses  of  the  journey  were  paid.  It 
cannot  be  doubted  that,  as  Charlotte  said,  "  fifty 
dollars  is  a  great  sum"  in  the  hands  of  the  frugal 
poor.  Charlotte  offered  him  the  balance  as  of 
course  his  ;  and,  when  he  declined  it,  insisted,  till 
he,  a  little  hurt,  said — 

"  Why,  Lottie,  I  should  feel  just  as  bad  as  they 
would  in  old  times,  if  they  had  taken  back  a  gift 
they  had  laid  on  the  Lord's  altar  ;  but  I'll  take  the 
money  to  father  to  put  out  for  you." 


SHOWERS    AND    SUNSHINE.  53 

This  was  agreed  on  ;  and,  being  fortunately  in- 
vested, it  amounted  in  a  few  years  to  a  hundred 
dollars ;  the  income  from  it  was  seven  a  year, 
and  this  little  surn  gave  to  our  frugal  and  liberal 
Charlotte  more  of  the  real  enjoyment  of  property 
than  is  often  derived  from  productive  thousands. 
She  had  the  luxury  of  giving,  and  the  tranquillizing 
feeling  that  she  had  something  in  reserve  for  a  wet 
day. 


CHAPTER  VL 

SHOWERS    AND    SUNSHINE. 

WE  pass  over  several  years  in  the  annals  of  our 
young  friends.  The  current  of  their  lives  had  flow- 
ed smoothly  on.  Charlotte,  living  in  rigid  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  health,  as  laid  down  and  expounded 

by  Dr. ,  and  to  the  laws  of  heaven,  as  applied 

by  her  faithful  conscience,  had  enjoyed  a  degree 
of  health  and  comfort  that  she  had  not  anticipated. 
Susan,  at  nineteen,  was  an  accomplished  tailoress  ; 
and,  what  is  most  rare,  her  health  and  sunny  cheer- 
fulness had  been  in  nowise  impaired  by  her  con- 
finement to  her  needle.  She  was  a  singular  union 
of  sweet  temper  and  efficiency;  and  the  only 
seamstress  we  ever  heard  of,  that,  for  year  after 
year,  so  far  resisted  the  effects  of  sedentary  em- 
ployment as  to  sing  at  her  work. 

"  What  is  the  reason,  Susan  May,"  said  an  ac- 
quaintance to  her,  "  that  you  arc  always  so  well 
E  2 


64  THE   POOR   RICH   MAN, 'ETC. 

and  light-hearted  ?  Poor  Sally  Baker  did  not  do  as 
much  work  as  you,  and  yet  the  doctors  said  it  was 
sitting  so  steadily  that  brought  on  her  dyspepsy ; 
and  only  see  Jane  Mills,  she  is  a  sight  to  behold ! 
and  nothing  but  sewing,  the  doctors  say." 

"  Nothing  but  sewing,  they  may  say,  Adeline  , 
Sally  Baker  used  to  sit  in  her  little  stove-room 
from  morning  till  night,  and  never  let  in  any  fresh 
air  any  more  than  if  it  were  poison  :  poor  Jane  did 
get  a  little  walk  when  she  went  to  her  place  in  the 
morning,  but  she  was  always  behindhand  with  her 
work ;  never  could  say  no,  and  would  set  up  half 
the  night  to  oblige  her  customers  ;  and,  after  all, 
was  tormented  to  death  with  reproaches  for  broken 
promises  ;  and  then,  when  her  appetite  failed,  she 
used  to  live  on  pies,  and  cakes,  and  such  trash. 
As  Lottie's  doctor  told  her,  God  has  written  laws 
in  our  constitutions,  and  if  we  break  them  we  must 
pay  for  it." 

"  But  how  do  you  manage,  Susan — your  cheeks 
are  as  fresh  as  roses  ?" 

"  I  began,  Adeline,  with  an  excellent  constitu- 
tion ;  and  Lottie,  knowing  the  value  of  health, 
watched  over  it.  She  made  me  follow  her  New- 
York  doctor's  rules  about  washing  myself." 

"Washing  yourself!  I  should  like  to  know  if 
everybody  don't  wash  themselves ;  I  am  sure 
Sally  Baker,  and  Jane  Mills  too,  were  neat  as 
pinks." 

"  So  they  were,  Adeline  ;  but  few  even  of  neat 
people  know  the  importance  of  daily  bathing  the 
whole  person,  arid  rubbing  it  smartly  with  a  coarse 
cloth." 

"  That?s  what  I  call  superstition*" 


SHOWERS    AND    SUNSHINE.  55 

"  You  may  call  it  what  you  please,  Adeline  ;  but 
I  believe  that,  and  changing  my  clothes,  airing  the 
bed,  and  the  house,  and  room,  have  kept  my  cheeks, 
as  you  say,  fresh  as  roses.  Lottie  never  lets  me  sit 
more  than  two  hours  at  a  time  at  my  needle  ;  she 
calls  me  to  do  a  chore,  or  run  of  an  errand.  She 
will  not  let  me  pass  one  day,  rain  or  shine,  without 
exercise  in  the  open  air.  Neither  cold,  wet,  nor 
heat  hurts  me.  As  to  my  lightheartedness,  Adeline, 
that's  natural  to  me ;  but  Lottie  has  helped  to 
keep  that  up  too,  by  taking  care  that  I  don't  get 
fretted  at  by  my  customers.  She  never  would  let 
me  make  a  promise  that  I  was  not  sure  of  perform- 
ing. I  often  get  my  work  done  beforehand,  and  I 
take  pains  to  fit  and  please,  and  somehow  I  think 
our  Essex  folks  are  easy  to  please ;  and  smiles 
beget  smiles,  you  know — if  they  are  pleased,  I  am. 
And  then  it's  such  a  heart-comfort  to  keep  the 
family  together,  now  father  is  getting  old  and 
feeble." 

"  After  all,  Susan,  I  guess,"  said  her  visiter,  with 
an  ominous  contraction  of  the  lips,  "  you'll  not 
always  be  so  lighthearted." 

"  Maybe  not ;  but  I  don't  believe  in  borrowing 
trouble." 

"  It  may  come  without  borrowing — they  say  it's 
a  bad  sign  to  feel  too  well." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  signs,  Adeline." 

"  You  may — they  say  everybody  believes  proph- 
ecy after  it  comes  to  pass." 

"  Do  you  mean  any  thing  in  particular  ?"  asked 
Susan,  struck  more  by  her  companion's  tone  than 
her  words  ;  "  if  you  do,  pray  speak  out." 

"  Have  you  seen  Paulina  Clark  ?" 


86  tHE    POOR   RICH   MAN,  ETC. 

"  Paulina  Clark !  is  she  in  Essex  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  her  mother's  husband  is  dead,  and  thr.y 
have  come  back  here  to  live  ;  and  they  say  the 
old  man  left  the  widow  a  fortune  ;  and  Paulina  is 
dressed  as  if  it  was  true^ — all  in  fine  bombasin, 
and  a  crape  veil  down  to  her  feet,  and  a  black  bead 
bag,  and  every  thing  answerable  ;  though  you 
know  she  did  not  scruple  to  say  she  hated  the  old 
man  while  he  was  alive." 

"  I  am  sorry  she  behaves  so  unbecomingly ;  she 
was  always  fond  of  outside  show,  Paulina  ;  but  I  re- 
member Harry  used  to  say  that  was  natural,  she 
was  so  handsome." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  strange,  Susan,  that  some 
people  can  be  so  taken  up  with  beauty?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  I  like  to  look  at  every  thing 
that  is  beautiful." 

"  But  should  you  think  that  such  a  person  as 
Harry  Aikin  would  put  beauty  before  every  thing?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  does,"  replied  Susan,  keeping 
her  eyes  steadfastly  to  her  work,  and  slightly 
blushing. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  the  beauty  or 
the  fortune ;  but  it  must  be  one  or  the  other,  or 
both — for  I  am  sure,  in  other  respects,  you  are 
far  enough  before  Paulina  Clark  ;  and  everybody 
thought  Harry  was  paying  attention  to  you  before 
he  left  Essex." 

"  Harry  was  always  like  a  brother  to  Charlotte 
and  me,"  replied  Susan,  her  voice  a  little  trem- 
ulous. 

"  Like  a  brother  to  Charlotte  he  might  have 
been  ;  but  he  was  more  like  something  else  to 
you,  and  everybody  thought  so  " 


SHOWERS    AND    SUNSHINE.  57 

"  Everybody  don't  know  every  thing,"  rejoined 
Susan,  her  eyes  still  riveted  to  her  work,  and  her 
heart  throbbing  so  that  it  seemed  to  her  her  com- 
panion must  hear  it, 

"  Well,  now,"  continued  the  persevering  gossip, 
"  Susan  May,  be  candid,  and  own,  if  you  should 
hear  that  Harry  Aikin  was  going  to  marry  Paulina 
Clark,  should  not  you  feel  as  if  he  had  deceived 
you  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Susan,  now  speaking  firmly,  and 
looking  her  companion  full  in  the  face  ;  "if  all  the 
world,  arid  Charlotte,  thought  Harry  paid  me  par- 
ticular attention — and  if  I  sometimes  had  thought 
so  too,  and  if  he  marries  Paulina  Clark  to-morrow, 
I  should  think  we  were  all  mistaken,  and  Harry 
true-hearted." 

"  Well,  you'll  be  put  to  the  trial,  for  Paulina  as 
good  as  owned  to  me  her  expectations  ;  but  I  am 
sorry  for  your  disappointment,  for  you  can't  but  say 
'tis  a  disappointment."  Susan  said  nothing,  and 
her  tormentor  proceeded.  "  It's  nothing  new  nor 
strange ;  them  that  has  not  any  interest*  must  ex- 
pect to  be  slighted  ;  and  I  have  often  heard  that 
when  young  men  get  to  New- York,  all  they  think 
of  is  making  money,  and  getting  a  wife  that  will 
make  a  show  with  it ;  and  you  say  yourself  that 
Harry  thought  Paulina  a  beauty." 

Susan  made  no  reply,  and  Adeline,  having  suc- 
ceeded in  making  her  uncomfortable,  began  to  feel 
very  much  so  herself,  from  the  effect  of  Susan's 
quiet  dignity ;  and,  much  to  Susan's  satisfaction, 
she  cut  short  her  visit  and  disappeared.  When 

*  Interest  is,  in  rustic  sense,  property. 


58  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

Charlotte  entered  a  few  moments  after,  she  found 
Susan's  work  had  dropped  on  the  floor,  and  she 
was  leaning  her  head  on  the  chair  and  sobbing. 
This  was  a  strange  sight  ;  for,  let  the  clouds  be 
ever  so  heavy,  there  was  always  a  glimmering  of 
blue  sky  where  Susan  was. 

Inquiries  and  explanations  followed.  Susan's 
heart  was  turned  inside  out ;  not  a  thought,  feeling, 
prostrate  hope,  or  piercing  regret,  was  concealed 
from  Charlotte,  who,  though  in  a  more  subdued 
manner,  was  scarcely  less  grieved  than  Susan. 

When  they  could  talk  calmly  about  it,  Susan 
said,  li  Come  what  will,  I  never  shall  blame  Harry 
in  the  least.  You  know  how  many  times  he  has 
said  we  were  just  like  sisters  to  him ;  and  it  was 
perfectly  natural,  when  he  went  to  live  in  New- 
York,  he  should  like  people  that  had  New- York 
ways." 

"  But,  Susan,  it  does  seem  to  me  strange  that 
Harry  should  ever  fancy  Paulina ;  she  has  not  his 
ways  of  thinking,  or  acting,  or  feeling." 

"  Oh,  Lottie,  Paulina  is  handsome — they  say 
the  best  of  men  are  carried  away  with  beauty." 

"  Not  Harry,  1  am  sure  ;  and,  besides,  I  have 
heard  him  say — I  never  told  you,  because  I  did 
not  want  to  flatter  you — but  I  heard  him  say,  when 
we  went  to  hear  Squire  Willard's  fourth  of  July 
oration — the  day  Paulina  wore  that  new  pink  satin 
bonnet — and  somebody  said  Squire  Willard  nevei 
took  his  eyes  from  her  all  the  time  he  was  speak- 
ing—" 

"  What  did  Harry  say,  Charlotte  ?" 

"  Harry  whispered  to  me,  and  said  he  liked 
your  looks  a  thousand  times  better  than  Paulina's.' 


SHOWERS   AND    SUNSHINE.  59 

"  Did  he  ?  did  he  ? — he  would  not  say  so  now  !" 

"  Maybe  not.  I  shall  always  think,  if  he  had 
not  gone  to  New- York,  that  would  have  come  to 
pass  that  we  expected ;  but  I  believe,  Susy,  it  is 
very  hard  to  keep  from  being  worldly-minded  in  a 
city.  When  I  was  in  New-York,  as  I  have  often 
told  you,  the  chief  conversation  was  about  dress 
and  making  money.  Oh  how  I  did  long  to  hear fc 
something  about  something  profitable.  You  know 
I  never  was  in  favour  of  Harry's  going  there — I 
never  liked  his  going  into  partnership  with  Morris 
Finley — he'd  better  have  sat  over  his  lapstone  the 
rest  of  his  life." 

"But,  Lottie,  you  forget  the  weakness  in  his 
breast." 

"  I  do — that  was  a  good  reason  for  giving  up  his 
trade,  but  not  for  going  to  New- York." 

"  Yes,  but  you  forget  what  flattering  prospects 
he  had ;  and,"  she  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  after  his 
parents'  death,  he  had  not  much  to  keep  him  here  ; 
and,  having  all  his  portion  of  the  estate  in  money, 
he  thought  it  would  enable  him  to  carry  on  busi- 
ness to  the  greatest  advantage  in  New- York.  He 
explained  all  this  to  our  satisfaction  then." 

"  Yes  ;  and  when  he  told  us  about  his  plans,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  ahead,  I  was 
sure  he  was  hinting  at  sharing  with  you,  though 
he  did  not  seem  to  think  it  best  to  speak  out." 

"  I  thought  so  too,  Lottie ;  but  I  know  I  was 
very  much  to  blame  for  setting  my  heart  that  way, 
when  I  had  no  more  reason  ;  and  then,  his  always 
writing  and  sending  something  by  every  opportu- 
nity— to  be  sure,  the  letters  were  directed  to  you, 
but  somehow  they  always  seemed  written  to  me} 


60  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

and  then  he  was  sure  to  send  some  present  that  he 
knew  I  should  like  better  than  any  thing  else  in 
the  world  ;  but  it's  now  a  long,  long  time  since  we 
have  heard  from  him,  and  yet  we  never  suspected 
any  thing." 

"  No,  Susy,  because  we  never  in  our  lives  sus- 
pected Harry  could  do  any  but  the  right  thing.  It 
will  be  very  hard  to  make  up  our  minds  to  see  him 
Paulina's  husband." 

"  Harry  Paulina's  husband  !  Oh,  it's  awful  to 
think  of !  But,  if  she  were  only  worthy  of  him — if 
she  could  make  him  happy,  I  could  be  as — happy, 
I  was  going  to  say,  but  that  would  not  be  true — 
but  I  could  be  contented  for  myself  and  thankful 
for  him." 

Both  sisters  were  silent  for  a  few  moments,  when 
Charlotte  said — 

"  If  we  can't  have  things  right  in  this  world,  we 
can  have  right  feelings  ;  let  us  kneel  down  and 
pray  together,  Susan." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Lottie,  that  is  always  a  comfort." 

The  sisters  knelt,  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 
Charlotte  was  the  organ  of  both  their  hearts,  and 
most  earnestly  did  she  pray  that  they  might  walk 
together  in  integrity  and  thankfulness  in  whatsoev- 
er path  it  should  please  the  Almighty  to  mark  out 
for  them,  even  were  it  through  a  solitary  wilder- 
ness ;  that  they  might  remember  that  their  Lord 
and  Master  did  not  promise  his  followers  their  por- 
tion in  this  world  ;  that  they  might  humbly  and 
faithfully  do  the  duty  appointed  them,  and  not  re- 
pine because  they  could  not  choose  what  that  duty 
should  be. 

She  poured  foith  aa  earnest  petition  for  their 


SHOWERS    AND    SUNSHINE.  61 

best  friend ;  that  he  might  be  directed  aright ;  that 
he  might  be  delivered  from  the  many  evils  and 
temptations  that  surrounded  him  ;  and  that  she  with 
whom  his  heart  was  knit  might  have  the  grace  as 
well  as  the  gifts  of  God. 

When  their  heart-service  was  over,  Susan  said 
she  felt  as  if  a  load  were  taken  from  her.  "  He," 
she  said  to  Charlotte,  "who  commanded  us  to 
pray  for  our  enemies,  certainly  knew  what  was  in 
us :  how  differently  we  feel  towards  any  one  we 
earnestly  pray  for  !" 

From  this  time  there  was  no  apparent  change 
in  the  sisters,  except  that  Susan  pursued  her  la- 
bours with  even  more  than  usual  avidity,  and 
sometimes  a  remark  would  escape  from  her  that 
showed  the  course  of  her  thoughts  ;  such  as,  "  I 
am  sure,  Charlotte,  of  having  enough  to  do  in  this 
world,  and  that's  a  real  comfort ;  for  one  can't  be 
very  unhappy  while  there  is  enough  to  do." 

That  Adeline's  prophecy  was  verified,  was  ob- 
vious ;  a  portion  of  her  lightheartedness  was 
gone,  and  even  Uncle  Phil  remarked  that  "  she 
did  not  sing  as  she  used  to  ;"  he  "  wished  she 
would  ;  he  had  rather  hear  her  than  a  bird. "  Mean- 
while Charlotte  watched  her  with  a  blending  of  the 
sister's  sympathy,  and  the  mother's  tenderness  ; 
and  daily,  as  she  saw  that  Susan's  resolution  was 
carrying  her  serenely  through  the  storm,  did  she 
offer  her  humble  thanksgiving  to  Him  who  she 
knew  was  the  source  of  her  strength  and  peace. 
F 


62  THE    POOR   RICH   MAN,   ETC 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LOVE-LETTERS. 

THREE  weeks  passed  away,  and  nothing  more 
was  heard  of  Adeline's  news,  save  that  once,  when 
Paulina,  in  Susan's  presence,  was  bantered  about 
the  house  of  "  Finley  and  Aikin,"  she  tittered  and 
bridled  her  head,  and  had  all  the  airs  of  a  spoiled 
girl  who  is  rallied  about  her  lover  ;  and  save  that, 
when  Paulina,  after  a  month's  mourning,  doffed  her 
crape  bonnet  and  veil,  and  put.  on  a  pink  hat  with 
artificial  flowers,  the  premature  transition  was  im- 
puted to  an  approaching  wedding,  and  not  to  the 
obvious  and  perfectly  sufficient  cause — the  pretty 
girl's  extravagant  love  of  dress. 

At  last  Uncle  Phil  brought  home  that  rare  bles- 
sing to  our  simple  friends,  a  letter,  from  the  post- 
office. 

"  Here's  something  for  you,  gals,"  said  he,  "  as 
scarce  as  gold  now-a-days — a  letter  from  Harry." 

"  Oh,  better  than  gold  !"  said  Charlotte,  holding 
out  her  hand. 

"  No,  no,  it's  Susy's  this  time  ;  why  don't  you 
jump,  Susy  ?" 

Susan  moved  slowly,  and  took  it  with  a  trem- 
bling hand.  Her  fears,  she  thought,  now  were  to 
become  certainty. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of,  child  ?"  continued  her 
father  ;  "  there  can't  be  any  bad  news  in  it,  'cause 


LOVE-LETTERS.  63 

it's  got  a  red  wafer  ;  and  besides,  Harry  writ  it 
himself.  Give  it  to  me — no,  I  have  broken  my 
spectacles — you  read  it,  Lottie." 

"  Yes,  so  do,  Lottie,"  said  Susan ;  "  I  want  to 
see  if  my  iron  is  hot." 

"  That  beats  the  Dutch,"  said  Uncle  Phil ;  "  if 
I  had  twenty  irons  in  the  fire  I  should  let  them 
burn  to  hear  news  from  Harry." 

Poor  Susan  !  we  hope  our  readers  will  excuse 
her  for  giving  a  false  gloss  once  in  her  life.  "  I 
can  bear  any  thing,"  so  she  thought,  "  if  I  am  alone 
with  Lottie,  and  she  first  sees  it."  Her  sister  soon 
followed  her  with  the  open  letter. 

"  Bad  news,  Susy,"  she  said,  "  but  not  what  we 
expected." 

*'  Then  it  can't  be  very  bad,"  exclaimed  Susan, 
the  clouds  vanishing  from  her  face ;  she  seized 
the  letter,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"  MY  DEAR  SUSAN — It  is  a  long  time  since  I 
have  written  to  you  ;  but  I  have  been  in  much  per- 
plexity and  anxiety,  and  have  been  waiting  to  see 
daylight.  We  have  failed,  Finley  and  I,  as  might 
have  been  expected  ;  neither  of  us  having  any  ex- 
perience in  the  business  we  undertook.  As  sooa 
as  I  found  we  could  not  meet  our  notes,  I  made  a 
thorough  examination  into  our  affairs,  and  found  we 
could  just  pay  our  debts  and  no  more.  So  to-morrow 
we  close  the  concern.  I  have  many  times  regret- 
ted I  did  not  take  Charlotte's  advice,  and  not  enter 
into  a  business  for  which  I  was  not  qualified.  I 
would  now  gladly  return  to  my  trade,  but  confine- 
ment to  business,  and  anxiety,  have  had  an  unfa- 
vourable effect  on  my  health,  and  I  am  more 


64  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

than  ever  troubled  with  that  old  pain  in  my  breast. 
I  sometimes  think,  Susan,  a  sight  of  your  sunny 
face  would  cure  me  ;  that  and  all  good  things  I 
trust  will  come  ;  in  the  meantime,  patience.  In 
prosperity  and  adversity,  my  heart  ever  turns  to- 
wards my  dear  Essex  friends,  who  must  believe  me 
their  friend  and  brother, 

"HARRY  AIKIN." 

"  I  never  did  fully  believe  it !"  exclaimed  Susan, 
as  she  closed  the  letter. 

"  Believe  what  ?" 

Susan  blushed.  "  You  know  what,  Lottie." 
Charlotte  smiled.  "  Are  you  not  sorry  for  Harry's 
failure  ]"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes — sorry  ?  No — no,  I  am  not  sorry  for 
any  thing  just  at  this  moment,"  and  Susan  covered 
her  face,  and  wept  for  joy.  Then,  dashing  off  her 
tears,  she  read  the  letter  over  again.  "  After  all," 
she  said,  "  for  any  thing  he  writes  here,  he  may 
be  going  to  marry  Paulina ;  but  I  know  he  is  not." 
Susan's  happy  faith  was  well  founded.  Harry's 
letter  gave  no  details,  for  he  never  wrote  his  own 
praises,  even  indirectly.  "  Not  he  that  commend- 
eth  himself  is  approved." 

When,  at  the  close  of  their  second  year's  part- 
nership, he  ascertained  the  unfavourable  condition 
of  their  affairs,  he  insisted  on  making  them  known 
at  once  to  their  creditors,  that  they  might  suffer  the 
least  possible  inconvenience  from  the  failure  of 
punctual  payment.  Morris  Finley  remonstrated. 
He  saw,  or  affected  to  see,  flattering  prospects 
ahead ;  and  at  last,  when  Harry  absolutely  refused 
to  go  on,  Morris  insisted  on  making  a  compromise 


LOVE-LETTERS.  65 

with  their  creditors.  He  adduced  case  upon  case 
where  this  had  been  done  in  similar  circumstances, 
and  a  pretty  penny  saved,  and  no  reputation  lost, 
Harry  would  not  listen  to  his  proposition.  He 
said,  the  frequency  of  such  proceedings  was  an 
argument  in  his  mind  against  them.  He  would 
not  add  his  mite  to  sully  the  mercantile  reputation 
of  his  country ;  and  that  if,  by  the  arrangement 
Finley  proposed,  he  did  not  lose  his  good  name,  he 
should  lose  his  self-respect,  which  was  still  dearei 
to  him.  The  inflexibly  honest  man  is  unmanage- 
able, and  Finley  was  at  last  compelled  to  yield. 
They  stopped  in  time  to  pay  every  penny  of  their 
debts,  and  retain' the  respect  of  their  creditors; 
and  Harry  began  the  world  anew,  with  fresh  vig- 
our, springing  from  a  conscience  void  of  offence. 
Morris  profited  by  Harry's  firmness.  One  of  their 
creditors,  struck  by  the  honesty  of  the  firm,  and 
giving  the  parties  equal  credit  for  it,  offered  Finley 
an  employment  which,  as  he  afterward  said,  was 
the  first  rung  of  the  ladder  on  which  he  mounted 
to  fortune. 

Some  months  passed  away,  and  Paulina  contin- 
ued to  be  a  belle  in  Essex,  and  flattered  by  young 
men  of  every  degree.  The  report  of  her  engage- 
ment to  Harry  was  found  to  have  arisen  from  the 
devotions  of  his  partner,  Morris  Finley,  to  her. 
These  devotions  Were  abated  by  a  third  marriage 
of  Paulina's  mother,  by  which  she  put  into  the 
hands  of  a  young  spendthrift  some  fifteen  thousand 
dollars,  received  from  her  last  doting  and  deluded 
husband.  Paulina  seemed  at  first  much  affected 
by  Finley 's  desertion  ;  but,  after  a  while,  she  turn- 
ed to  other  lovers  ;  and,  when  her  mother's  young 
F2 


66  THE    POOR   RICH   MAN,  ETC. 

husband  deserted  and  left  her  penniless,  both 
mother  and  daughter  returned  to  New-York  and 
opened  a  milliner's  shop  :  the  mother  soon  after 
died.  It  was  said  that  Paulina  removed  to  Phila- 
delphia ;  but,  though  unfavourable  reports  reached 
Essex  concerning  her,  nothing  was  certainly 
known. 

In  the  meantime,  save  two  or  three  short  letters 
by  private  opportunities  (for  our  friends  could  not 
afford  the  luxury  of  post  intercourse),  the  sisters 
heard  nothing  from  Harry  till  the  following  letter 
arrived. 

/ 

"  DEAR  SUSAN — My  prospects,  since  the  break- 
up last  spring,  are  much  improved ;  but  particulars 
in  my  next.  All  I  want  to  know  is,  whether  you 
will  share  my  lot  with  me  ?  Pray  write  by  return 
of  post,  and  believe  me  now,  as  you  well  know  I 
have  ever  been,  though  I  never  put  it  into  words 
before,  your  friend  and  true  lover, 

"HARRY  AIKIN. 

"  P.  S. — I  know,  dear  Susan,  you  are  not  a  per- 
son to  take  or  refuse  a  husband  for  any  thing  sep- 
arate from  himself ;  but  I  may  mislead  you  by  what 
I  said  above.  I  am  still  what  the  world  calls  a 
poor  man — particulars  in  my  next." 

Susan's  first  sensations  on  reading  Harry's  let- 
ter were  those  of  perfect  and  unlimited  happiness. 
"  I  always  felt,"  she  said  to  Charlotte,  "  as  if  I 
knew  he  loved  me  ;  and  now  I  wonder  I  let  Ade- 
line's story  trouble  me  for  one  moment." 

Again  and  again  the  sisters  read  over  Harry's 
letter ;  Charlotte  seeming,  in  her  own  quiet  way, 


LOVE-LETTERS.  67 

scarcely  less  happy  than  Susan.  Early  in  the 
evening  Charlotte  went  to  her  own  room.  Uncle 
Phil  made  it  a  rule  to  go  to  bed  when  the  fowls 
went  to  roost  (there  was  no  faint  resemblance  in 
their  degree  of  intellectual  life),  and  Susan  was 
left  in  possession  of  their  little  sitting-room  to  pour 
out  her  overflowing  heart  in  a  letter  to  Harry.  It 
was  a  letter  befitting  the  frank  and  feeling  creature 
who  wrote  it ;  and  such  a  letter  as  any  lover 
would  be  enraptured  to  receive.  When  she  went 
to  her  room,  Charlotte  was  not  in  bed,  but  just 
rising  from  her  knees ;  she  smiled  as  she  turned 
towards  Susan,  and  Susan  saw  that  her  cheeks 
were  wet  with  tears. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Lottie !"  she  asked. 

"  I  have  been  trying,  Susy,  to  get  courage  to  look 
into  the  future."  Her  voice  faltered  as  she  ad- 
ded, "  The  time  is  coming  when  we  must  separate." 

"  Oh,  Lottie,  I  never  thought  of  that !  how  could 
I  be  so  selfish!"  All  the  castles  she  had  been 
building  in  the  air  fell  at  once  to  the  ground.  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  say — "  No,  I  will  never  leave 
you,  Lottie." 

But  she  had  just  written  a  promise  to  Harry  to 
be  his  ;  and  she  was  silent,  and  quite  as  sorrowful 
as  Charlotte  at  the  conviction  that,  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives,  their  interests  were  divided.  Hour 
after  hour  she  was  restless  and  thoughtful ;  at  last 
she  came  to  a  conclusion,  sad  enough  in  some  of 
its  aspects,  but  it  tranquillized  her.  She  nestled 
up  to  her  sister,  put  her  arm  over  her,  and  fell 
asleep,  repeating  to  herself,  "  It's  a  comfort,  any 
how,  to  resolve  to  do  right."  Well  may  reflection 
be  called  an  angel,  when  it  suggests  duties,  and 


08  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

calls  into  action  principles  strong  enough  to  meet 
them.  Before  Susan  closed  her  letter,  she  made 
the  following  addition  : — 

"  P.  S. — DEAR  HARRY — I  wrote  this  letter  last 
evening,  and  shall  send  it ;  for  why  should  I,  if  I 
could,  conceal  my  real  feelings  from  you  ?  Since 
we  were  playfellows  at  school,  I  have  loved  you 
best,  and  you  only,  Harry ;  for  the  time  to  come,  I 
must  love  you  only  as  a  brother.  Oh,  how  strange 
it  is,  that  the  black  and  the  white  threads  are  al- 
ways twisted  together  in  human  life.  Last  evening 
I  was  so  happy  writing  this  letter;  but,  when  I 
went  into  the  bedroom,  Lottie's  face  was  covered 
with  tears;  and  she  spoke  of  our  separation,  and 
all  flashed  upon  me  at  once.  What  could  she  and 
father  do  without  me  ?  They  do  now  their  full 
part  towards  keeping  the  family  together,  but  they 
can  neither  of  them  bring  in  any  thing,  and  they 
would  be  obliged  to  look  to  the  town  for  support. 
Is  not  that  awful  to  think  of  ?  So  you  see,  dear 
Harry ,  I  cannot  leave  them — our  path  is  plain,  and, 
as  dear  Lottie  would  say,  may  we  have  grace  to 
walk  therein.  It  is  very  dark  now,  Harry;  but,  if 
we  only  try  to  do  right,  the  day  will  soon  break, 
and  grow  brighter  and  brighter.  Please  don't  say 
one  word  to  persuade  me  off  my  resolution,  for  we 
are  weak  creatures  at  best,  and  we  should  stand 
together,  and  strengthen  and  uphold  one  another* 
Above  all,  don't  say  a  word  about  my  reasons  to 
father  and  Lottie  ;  and  believe  me,  dear  Harry,  not 
a  bit  less  your  affectionate  friend  because  I  can't 
forsake  them. 

"  SUSAN  MAY*" 


LOVE-LETTERS.  69 

By  return  of  post  came  the  following  answer 
from  Harry : — 

"DEAREST  SUSAN — Forsake  *  father  and  Lot- 
tie !'  that  you  never  shall.  When  I  wrote  my  last, 
it  was  only  to  get  that  blessed  little  word  yes  from 
you,  for  I  must  make  sure  of  my  title  before  I  laid 
out  the  future.  One  thing  only  I  am  a  little  hurt 
at.  Could  you  think  I  could  leave  out  Charlotte  in 
my  plans  1 — a  dear  sister,  counsellor,  and  friend 
she  has  ever  been  to  me — and  your  good  father, 
who  so  much  needs  some  one  to  care  for  him  ?  Ah, 
Susan,  I  have  had  my  reflections  too ;  and  I  think 
our  path  is  plain  before  us,  and,  with  good  resolu- 
tion on  our  part,  and  Charlotte's  prayers  to  help  us, 
we  shall  have  grace  to  walk  therein.  But  I  must 
tell  you  all,  and  then  look  for  your  final  answer. 

"  When  I  invested  my  patrimony  in  the  shoe 
concern  with  Finley,  I  expected  soon  to  be  in  a 
situation  to  offer  you  my  hand,  and  begin  house- 
keeping in  New-York  with  four  members  to  the 
family,  for  never  once  have  I  thought  of  dividing 
you  from  your  father  and  Lottie.  I  did  not  tell  you 
my  hopes  and  plans,  because  I  feared  I  should  not 
after  that  have  patience  to  wait  as  long  as  prudence 
required.  One  thing  I  am  sure  of,  dear  Susan, 
from  my  own  experience — that  a  virtuous  love  is 
the  greatest  earthly  security  a  young  man  can  have 
against  the  temptations  and  dangers  that  beset  him. 
I  am  sure  my  affection  for  you  has  made  me  dili- 
gent in  business,  frugal,  earnest  in  my  pursuits,  and 
patient  in  my  disappointments.  If  I  had  felt  (which, 
thank  God,  I  never  did)  any  inclination  to  forbidden 
pleasures;  to  dangerous  company,  to  dissipation  of 


70  THE    POOR    IllCH    MAN,    ETC. 

any  sort,  the  thought  of  you  would  have  been  a 
shield  to  me.  Knowing  you  and  Charlotte  so  well, 
and  the  memory  of  my  excellent  mother,  have 
given  me  a  reverence  for  female  virtue — a  belief 
in  the  power  and  beauty  of  goodness  in  a  woman 
— and  to  this,  Susan,  love  naturally  follows — that 
pure  love  that  is  ordained  by  God  to  lead  to  the 
holy  institution  of  marriage. — But  what  are  my 
thoughts  running  to  ?  Don't  laugh  at  me,  and  I 
will  go  back  to  my  business  statements. 

"  When  I  began  business  I  took  lodgings  at  a 
carman's.  He  is  a  good  friend  of  mine,  and  with 
him  I  could  live  at  a  small  expense  in  a  quiet  fam- 
ily. I  have  avoided  living  or  associating  with 
those  who  had  more  means  than  I,  for  that  leads  to 
expense.  I  have  never  spent  a  shilling  on  super- 
fluities, for  which  I  have  now  much  reason  to  be 
thankful ;  for,  even  if  I  had  escaped  that  dreadful 
load,  unpaid  debts,  I  might,  like  many  other  young 
men,  have  acquired  habits  of  expense  on  the  credit 
of  future  gains.  The  gains  may  not  come — the 
habits  remain,  like  so  many  tormentors.  When  I 
was  asked  by  a  friend  to  go  to  an  oyster-house,  or 
the  theatre,  or  the  circus,  or  to  take  a  bottle  of  por- 
ter, or  drink  a  glass  of  whiskey,  I  declined.  I 
knew,  if  I  did  it  for  my  friend's  sake  this  time,  I 
might  do  it  for  my  own  the  next.  I  had  my  treats 
— vmy  pleasant  thoughts  of  the  time  when  I  should 
have  a  table  of  my  own,  and  faces  round  it  that  I 
loved.  It  is  sure  we  can't  have  every  thing  in  this 
world,  and  the  thing  is  to  make  up  our  mind  what 
we  must  have,  and  what  we  can  do  without.  You 
can  guess  my  must  have. 

"  When  I  found  Finley  and  I  were  going  behind- 


LOVE-LETTERS.  71 

hand,  I  determined  to  stop  short,  and  not,  as  many 
do,  put  off  the  evil  day,  plunging  deeper  and  deeper, 
making  enemies,  and  making  plenty  of  work  for 
repentance.  When  our  affairs  were  settled  up  I 
had  a  hundred  dollars  in  my  pocket,  and  no  one  to 
look  me  in  the  face  and  say  I  owed  him  a  shilling, 
or  had  wronged  him  of  one.  The  next  thing  was 
to  determine  on  what  business  I  should  follow, 
You  know  my  breast  was  much  weakened  by  sit* 
ting  over  my  lapstone  when  I  was  growing  fast. 
It  is  a  bad  trade  to  put  a  growing  boy  to.  I  could 
not  return  to  it.  A  farm  in  one  of  the  free  western 
states  seemed  to  me  the  happiest  lot  in  the  world 
for  a  poor  man ;  but  there  were  hardships  in  the 
beginning,  and,  though  you  and  I  would  not  have 
minded  them,  your  father  and  Lottie  could  not  have 
stood  them.  A  farm  at  Essex  I  dared  not  think  of; 
a  man  must  have  some  capital  and  knowledge, 
practice  and  skill,  to  go  ahead  in  New-England  on 
a  farm,  and  I  had  none  of  these.  While  I  was  de« 
liberating,  ray  good  friend  Mr.  Loomis,  the  carman, 
determined  to  move  to  Ohio.  He  advised  me  to 
take  up  his  business,  and  offered  to  sell  me  his 
horse  and  cart  on  very  reasonable  terms,  and  to 
recommend  me  to  his  employers.  There  were 
many  reasons  to  decide  me  to  take  his  advice.  I 
find  exercise  in  the  open  air  the  best  medicine  for 
the  pain  in  my  breast.  Carting  is  a  sure  and  reg- 
ular business.  I  have  observed  that  the  carmen  in 
this  city,  those  whose  carts  are  never  seen  standing 
before  groceries,  are  a  healthy,  cheerful-looking 
class  of  men.  They  go  slowly  but  surely  ahead. 
They  can  generally  manage  to  take  their  meals 
with  their  families,  and  to  spend  all  their  evenings 


72  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

at  home — a  great  point  to  a  man  who  loves  home 
faces  and  home  pleasures  as  I  do.  Some  persons 
think  it  is  going  down  a  step  to  go  from  shop-keep- 
ing to  carting  ;  but  you  and  I,  Susan,  have  our  own 
notions  about  going  up  and  down,  and  both  think  it 
is  what  is  in  a  man,  and  not  what  is  out  of  him, 
that  humbles  or  exalts  him.  Some  think  that  most 
genteel  which  brings  them  nearest  to  being  idle 
gentlemen  ;  but,  when  I  am  driving  through  Broad- 
way on  my  cart,  do  you  think  I  would  change 
places  with  those  slim-looking  young  men  I  see 
parading  up  and  down  the  street,  looking  like  tai- 
lors' walking  advertisements — bringing  nothing  to 
pass — doing  nothing  with  the  time  God  gives  them 
in  this  world,  arid  gives  them — for  what  ?  Oh,  it 
would  take  a  minister  to  answer  that. 

"  I  might  have  gone  into  trade  of  some  kind,  but 
I  have  not  health  to  be  shut  up  behind  a  counter ; 
and  besides,  in  my  opinion,  a  shop  is  a  fitting  place 
for  women  only,  they  being  (don't  be  affronted, 
Susy)  the  weaker  sex.  You  see  now  how  my  case 
stands.  I  have  no  debts.  I  have  good  health  for 
the  business  I  have  chosen,  industry,  and  a  faculty 
I  may  boast.  So  I  think  I  may  marry  in  this  bles- 
sed country  of  ours,  where  there  is  sure  employ- 
ment, and  a  man  is  certain  of  getting  his  earnings. 
Besides,  dear  Susan,  if  any  thing  happens  to  me, 
you  have  your  trade  to  depend  upon.  Give  my 
best  love  to  Charlotte,  and  tell  her,  besides  being 
a  main  comfort,  she  will  be  a  real  help  to  us ;  for 
while  she  is  doing  the  light  work,  your  needle  will 
be  making  money.  If  your  father  has  any  scru- 
ples about  coming,  pray  tell  him  the  rent  of  his 
Essex  place  will  pay  for  the  rent  of  a  room  her* 


LOVE-LETTERS.  73 

and  save  us  from  near  neighbours  we  may  not  like. 
Am  I  not  calculating,  Susan  ?  But  is  it  not  better 
to  calculate  beforehand  than  to  grumble  afterward  t 
I  am  sure  I  am  right,  so  far  as  I  can,  to  secure  in- 
dependence to  your  father  and  Charlotte  ;  and  if, 
after  all,  they  must  take  something  from  us,  those 
who  are  so  generous  in  giving  will  be  also  gener- 
ous in  receiving,  and  they  will  not  grudge  us  the 
best  part,  it  being  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  re 
ceive. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  can  scarcely  bear  the 
thoughts  of — taking  you  all  from  that  pleasant  little 
spot  in  Essex,  where  you  have  riches  for  the  eye 
that  all  the  money  in  New-York  cannot  buy  in  the 
city — plenty  of  sweet  air  and  pure  water  ;*  and 
your  garden,  and  your  little  courtyard,  with  its 
rose-bushes,  morning-glories,  pionies,  and  marvels 
of  Peru.  But,  after  all,  dear  Susan,  there  are  feel- 
ings worth  giving  up  the  very  best  of  outward 
things  for ;  and  if  we  secure  affection,  and  kind- 
ness, and  so  forth,  we  sha'n't  have  made  a  bad  bar- 
gain of  it,  shall  we  1  We  may  be  what  the  world 
calls  poor,  and  miscals,  in  my  estimation.  Let 
us  begin,  in  the  fear  and  love  of  God,  with  a  de- 
termination to  do  our  duty — rich  in  love  for  one 
another,  and  at  peace  with  all  men  ;  and  if  worst 
comes  to  worst,  why,  that  will  be  outside  poverty. 
I  do  not  fear  it,  do  you  ?  Answer  this  without  iail 
by  return  of  post.  Much  duty  and  love  to  your 

*  Has  any  one  ever  calculated  the  amount  of  wealth  and 
comfort  to  be  produced  to  the  labouring  classes  by  the  intro^ 
duction  of  pure  water  into  the  city  of  New-York  ?  Health  and 
cleanliness  are  sources  of  wealth,  and  of  comfort  inappreci* 
able. 

G 


74  THE    POOR   RrCH    MAN,    ETC. 

(my?)  father  and  Charlotte,  and  believe  me,  till 
death,  your  friend  and  lover, 

"  HARRY  AIKIN. 

"  P.  S. — I  was  so  taken  up  with  one  subject  that 
I  forgot  to  mention  that  Finley  was  married  last 
evening  to  a  Miss  Nichols.  Her  father  entered 
into  speculation  last  winter,  and  is  said  to  be  rich. 
Finley  says  he  never  gave  Paulina  Clark  reason  to 
expect  to  marry  him  ;  perhaps  not  in  words  ;  but, 
the  old  proverb  is, '  actions  speak  loudest.'  To  my 
mind,  a  man  who  attends  to  a  girl,  and  then  quits 
her,  adds  hypocrisy  to  falsehood.  I  foresaw  how 
this  matter  would  end  when  I  heard  that  Paulina's 
mother  had  made  that  third  marriage.  Finley 
would  have  liked  a  handsome  wife,  but  he  must 
have  a  rich  one.  He  has  set  out  in  the  world  for 
what  he  calls  the  main  chance  ;  I  have  my  main 
chance  too,  and  that  depends  on  you.  Poor  Pauli- 
na !  But  I'll  not  tell  bad  news  (which  may  not  be 
true)  in  this  letter.  H.  A." 

Morris  Finley  and  Harry  Aikin  had  begun  life 
with  objects  diametrically  opposite,  and  were  des- 
tined to  illustrate  that  saying,  as  true  now  as  when, 
ages  ago,  it  was  first  uttered: — "  There  is  that 
maketh  himself  rich,  yet  hath  nothing — there  is  that 
maketh  himself  poor,  yet  hath  great  riches  " 


A  PEEP  INTO  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN  S  HOUSE.  75 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   PEEP   INTO    THE    POOR   RICH   MAN'S   HOUSE, 

As  our  readers  may  have  anticipated,  Susan  at 
once  entered  into  Harry's  views  ;  and,  in  a  short 
time,  she  and  her  family  were  transferred  to  a  part 
of  a  small  house  in  Broome-street,  in  New- York. 
One  room  served  as  kitchen,  parlour,  and  bed- 
room. It  was  furnished  only  with  articles  of  the 
first  necessity.  There  was  a  snug  little  bedroom 
for  Uncle  Phil,  which  he  said  suited  him  exactly ; 
and  a  comfortable,  good-sized  one  for  Charlotte, 
with  a  neat  rag  carpet  on  it,  "  because  Lottie  suf- 
fered with  cold  feet ;"  and  a  fireplace  in  it,  "  for 
Lottie  must  have  a  fire  when  she  had  sick  turns  ;" 
and  two  windows, "  for  all  Lottie's  living  was  fresh 
air ;"  and  the  only  bureau  and  the  only  rocking- 
chair  were  in  Charlotte's  room,  because,  as  she 
said,  "  Susy  had  always  some  good  reason  at  hand 
for  giving  her  the  best  of  every  thing." 

Our  friends  were  undeniably  what  the  world 
calls  poor.  But  they  had  affection,  intelligence, 
temperance,  contentment,  and  godliness.  Were 
they  poor  ?  We  shall  see.  In  the  meantime,  let 
us  see  if  there  is  not  some  misuse  of  terms  in  this 
world.  Morris  Finley  had  "  got  in  on  the  world." 
He  had  so  far  secured  his  main  chance,  that  he 
was  engaged  in  profitable  business.  He  lived  in 


76  THE    POOR    RICK    MAN,    ETC. 

a  good  house,  fashionably  furnished  ;  and  his  wife, 
like  the  wives  of  other  flourishing  young  mer- 
chants, dressed  in  expensive  materials,  made  in 
the  latest  fashion.  Neither  Morris  nor  his  wife 
was  vicious.  They  were  only  selfish  and  osten- 
tatious, with  unfurnished  minds,  and  hearts  as 
empty  as  their  purses  were  full. 

"  Husband,"  said  Mrs.  Finley  to  her  partner, 
who  had  just  come  home  from  Wall-street  to  din- 
ner, his  mind  engrossed  with  some  unaccounta 
ble  rise  in  the  stocks.  "  Husband,  mother  has  been 
here." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?" 

"  She  has  given  up  her  house." 

"  What  of  that  ?" 

"  Why,  you  know  what  of  that  as  well  as  I  do ; 
she  does  not  know  what  she  is  to  do  next." 

We  must  premise  that  Finley's  father-in-law 
nad  made  some  unfortunate,  as  well  as  fortunate 
speculations ;  had  died,  and  left  his  wife  and  an 
unmarried  daughter  penniless. 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  say  what  she  is  to  do  next," 
replied  Finley ;  "  she  is  lucky  to  have  one  daugh- 
ter well  provided  for.  What  does  she  propose  ?" 

"  She  did  not  propose  any  thing.     She  sat  and ». 
cried  the  whole  morning." 

"  Of  course  she  cannot  expect  to  have  a  home 
here." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  told  her,  said  I,  '  Mother,  if 
I  were  to  ask  husband  to  invite  you  here,  we  could 
not  accommodate  you,  for  we  have  not  a  room  to 
spare  :  you  know  we  must  eat  in  the  basement,  to 
keep  the  parlours  in  order  for  company ;  and  in  the 
second  story  there  is  only  the  nursery  and  our  bed- 


A  PEEP  INTO  THE  POOR  RICH  MANS  HOUSE.  ^ 

chamber ;  and  one  of  the  third-story  rooms  we 
must  keep  for  a  spare  room ;  and,  when  Sabina  Jane 
gets  to  be  a  little  older,  she  must  have  the  back  up- 
per chamber ;  and  so,'  said  I,  *  mother,  you  see,  it 
husband  were  perfectly  willing,  it  is  impossible.' " 

"  She  could  not  have  expected  it." 

"  Oh,  no,  she  did  not ;  but,  then,  a  mother  is  a 
mother,  you  know,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  hurt  her 
feelings." 

"  I  presume,  my  dear,  Helen  Maria  can  get  a 
place  as  governess  or  teacher  in  a  school ;  I  heard 
her  say  she  had  attended  to  music  and  painting, 

and  French,  and  so  on,  at  Mrs. 's  school,  for 

the  last  six  years." 

"  So  she  has,  husband ;  but,  bless  you !  you 
know  how  girls  learn  things  at  school,  and  she 
never  expected  to  have  to  teach." 

"  Expect  or  not  expect,  I'd  get  my  money's 
worth  out  of  these  schools.  I  saw,  on  your  fa- 
ther's books,  three  hundred  dollars  a  year  paid  for 
Helen  Maria's  schooling  for  the  last  six  years,  and 
this  is  what  it  has  come  to.  Can't  she  teach  ge- 
ography, or  arithmetic,  or  some  of  them  useful 
branches  ?" 

"  No,  she  never  was  fond  of  the  useful  branch- 
es ;  she  had  quite  a  pretty  taste  for  music  and 
painting,  but  then  people  are  required  to  understand 
them  so  well  to  teach  them.  No,  I  don't  see  as 
Helen  Maria  can  earn  any  thing  but  by  embroi- 
dering muslin ;  she  does  that  beautifully ;  and  if 
there  was  only  a  place  where  work  might  be  sold 
without  it  being  known  where  it  came  from,  she 
might  earn  considerable,  and  no  one  be  the  wiser 
for  it." 


78  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,   ETC. 

"  Nonsense,  \vife  !  We  have  not  yet  got  above 
our  relations'  working  for  their  living,  though  you 
may  not  be  obliged  to.  Why  can't  your  mother 
take  a  boarding-house,  and  then  Helen  Maria 
might  assist  her  ?" 

"  Oh !  Helen  Maria  can't  do  any  kind  of  house- 
work ;  besides,  she  is  delicate,  you  know.  Now 
mother  was  brought  up  to  it ;  and  when  I  proposed 
a  boarding-house,  she  said  if  she  had  any  security 
to  offer  for  her  rent — " 

"  Ah !  there's  the  rub !  I  hope  she  don't  expect 
me  to  offer  ;  for  you  know,  my  dear,  I  make  it  an 
invariable  rule  never  to  endorse,  but  in  the  way  of 
business,  for  those  who  endorse  for  me." 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  husband,  if  she  can't  get 
into  any  way  of  supporting  herself?  She  must 
live,  you  know." 

"  And  I  must  support  her,  hey  ?" 
"  No,  I  did  not  say  that ;  but  we  can't  let  her 
suffer.    What  would  people  say  ? — there  are  always 
enough  to  talk,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  yes  :  well,  I  suppose  I  must  advance  the 
first  quarter's  rent,  or  something  towards  it.  Oh! 
a  thought  strikes  me  ;  I  know  a  house  that  will 
just  suit,  belonging  to  some  old  maid  or  widow,  or 
somebody  that  lives  up  the  country.  The  man  that 
has  the  care  of  it  ain't  particular  about  security. 
I'll  make  the  bargain  for  her — save  her  at  least  a 
hundred  dollars.  That's  just  as  good  to  her  as  if 
I  took  the  money  out  of  my  purse  and  put  it  into 
hers.  I  am  glad  to  do  your  mother  a  good  turn 
now  and  then  in  this  way.  I  ain't  one  that  holds 
to  shirking  poor  relations." 

"  Nor  I,  I  am   sure,  and   I   told  mother  so ; 


A  PEEP  INTO  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN's  HOUSE.   79 

but  I  told  her  not  to  look  to  you  ;  for,  says  I, 
mother,  you  know  we  have  a  very  expensive  fami- 
ly, and  there  are  certain  things  we  must  have, 
and  husband  says  he  will  always  keep  on  the  safe 
side." 

"  Yes,  trust  Morris  Finley  for  that.  Folks  that 
mean  to  go  ahead  in  the  world  must  avoid  unne- 
cessary expenses.  Has  the  man  been  here  about 
the  curtains  1" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  find  the  fawn,  with  blue  borders, 
cost,  for  each  window,  twenty  dollars  more  than 
the  others." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  how  is  that  ?" 

"  The  fixtures  are  very  showy  and  expensive — 
I  don't  make  a  point  of  those — but  the  blue  and 
fawn  is  such  a  lovely  contrast*  and  such  a  match 
for  my  carpet.  If  there's  any  thing  I  do  care  about, 
it's  a  match." 

"  But  the  price,  wife,  is  enormous." 

"  But  it  is  not  more  than  Mrs.  Johnson  Smith 
gave  for  hers." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?" 

"  Positive  ;  Miss  Saltus  told  me  so,  and  Miss 
Saltus  made  them  up.  I  should  not  depend  on 
what  Mrs.  Johnson  Smith  said,  for  she  always 
makes  it  out  that  her  things  cost  more  than  any- 
body else's  ;  but  I  can  rely  on  Miss  Saltus." 

"  Well,  if  that's  the  case,  take  the  blue  and 
fawn.  I  hope  I  can  afford  what  Johnson  Smith 
can  ;  but  mind  and  make  your  bargain  with  thai 
Saltus  woman  beforehand  ;  work  is  slack  just  now, 
and  she  can't  afford  to  lie  by  with  that  old  blind 
mother  on  her  hands.  Get  your  work  done  as 
Well  and  as  cheap  as  you  can  ;  for,  remember,  we 


80  THE    POOR   RICH   MAN,   ETC. 

must  avoid  all  unnecessary  expenses.  But  what 
keeps  the  dinner,  my  dear?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  my  dear ;  I  have  been 
out  making  visits  all  the  morning.  Servants  are 
good  for  nothing  now-a-days — always  trifling  away 
their  time." 

"  What  ails  Sabina  Jane  ?  seems  to  me  she  does 
nothing  but  bawl." 

Mrs.  Finley  opened  the  door  to  inquire,  and  in 
rushed  a  pale  little  girl,  with  a  bit  of  plum-cake  in 
her  hand. 

"  Take  care,  Judy,"  said  the  mother,  picking  up 
the  crumbs  the  child  profusely  scattered  ;  "  you 
should  not  let  Sabina  Jane  come  into  the  parlour — 
it's  no  place  for  children." 

"  She  would  come,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  Sabina  Jane,  my  darling,  go  back  to  the 
nursery,  that's  a  good  child." 

"  I  won't,  I  won't !" 

Mrs.  Finley,  in  alow  voice  to  the  nurse — "  Coax 
her,  Judy — tell  her  you'll  take  her  out  to  walk." 

"  I  can't  take  her  out,  ma'am — my  foot  is  lame." 

"  Oh,  only  just  tell  her  so,  to  pacify  her.  Stop, 
Sabina  Jane,  and  listen  to  mother ;  Sabina  Jane 
shall  go  out  walking  in  Broadway,  and  have  on  her 
pretty  velvet  cap,  and  her  cloak,  all  trimmed  with 
pink — there,  that's  a  good  girl !  now  she'll  go  with 
Judy.  Get  out  her  things,  Judy — make  her  look 
like  a  little  beauty  !" 

The  little  dupe  returned  to  the  nursery,  and  in 
two  minutes  was  bawling  louder  than  ever,  having 
been  quieted  just  that  time  by  her  mother's  pre- 
cious lesson  in  lying  and  vanity. 


A  PEEP  INTO  THE  RICH  POOR  MAN'S  HOUSE.    81 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  PEEP   INTO   THE   RICH    POOR    MAN'S    HOUSE. 

SEVEN  years  had  not  passed  over  without  those 
precious  accumulations  to  Aikin  that  constitute  the 
poor  man's  wealth  ;  for,  save  a  conscience  void  of 
offence,  there  is  no  treasure  comparable  to  healthy, 
bright,  well-trained  children.  <)ur  friend  Harry 
and  his  wife  had  kept  the  even  tenour  of  their  way 
— no  uncommon  event  had  happened  to  them  ;  but, 
as  the  river  of  life  glides  through  a  varied  country, 
the  aspect  of  their's  now  varied  from  what  it  was 
when  we  last  saw  them. 

The  floor  of  the  room  was  partly  covered  with  a 
carpet,  and  the  part  visible  as  cTean  as  hands 
could  make  it.  It  was  summer,  and  the  blinds 
were  closed,  admitting  only  light  enough  to  enable 
the  persons  within  to  carry  on  their  occupations. 
Uncle  Phil  is  sitting  by  the  half-opened  window, 
with  a  year-old  baby  on  his  lap,  telling  over  on  its 
toes  that  charming  lyric,  "  this  pig  went  to  market, 
and  that  pig  stayed  at  home" — Aunt  Lottie  was 
preparing  a  pot  of  wholesome  soup,  which,  like  a 
judicious  housewife,  having  boiled  the  day  before, 
she  was  freeing  from  every  particle  of  fat — a  little 
girl,  six  years  old,  was  tacking  worsted  binding  to- 
gether for  Venitian  blinds,  whereby  she  got  from 
a  manufacturer  (working  only  at  odd  intervals) 


82  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

half  a  dollar  per  week ;  and  at  the  same  time 
teaching  a  sister,  something  more  than  two  years 
younger,  the  multiplication-table — Susan  Aikin  sat 
by,  her  vigilant  eye  seeing  every  thing,  and  her 
kind  voice  interposing,  as  often  as  the  wants  or 
claims  of  the  children  rendered  her  interference 
necessary.  Her  most  difficult  duty  seemed  to  be 
to  keep  in  due  order  a  restless,  noisy  little  fellow, 
William,  the  twin  brother  of  her  eldest  girl,  whom 
she  was  teaching  to  write,  while  at  the  same  time 
she  was  tailoring  and  instructing  in  her  art  a  young 
girl,  who  had  just  set  the  last  stitch  in  a  vest  of  the 
most  costly  material,  and  was  holding  it  up  for  in- 
spection ;  a  slight  anxiety,  till  she  heard  the  ap- 
proving word,  tempering  her  conscious  success. 
Susan  scrutinized  every  part  of  it,  every  seam,  but- 
ton-hole, and  button  ;  and  then  said — 

"  There's  not  a  fault  in  it — I  could  not  do  one 
better  myself,  Agnes." 

Agnes  burst  into  tears ;  Anne  looked  up  from 
her  work  inquiringly;  little  Mary  exclaimed, 
"  Such  a  big  girl  cry !"  Willie  said,  "  She  is  not 
really  crying ;"  and  the  baby  stretched  out  its 
neck,  and  put  up  its  lips  to  offer  a  kiss  of  consola- 
tion, which  Agnes  took,  smiling  through  her  tears, 
and  saying,  "  Oh,  I'm  only  crying  because  your 
mother  has  been  so  good  to  me  !" 

"  Well,"  shouted  Willie,  "  that's  a  funny  thing 
to  cry  for !" 

"  That  was  not  all,  Willie,"  said  his  mother ; 
"  Agnes  cries  because  she  has  been  good  herself." 

"  That's  funnier  yet ;  we  never  cry  only  when 
we  are  naughty." 

Mrs.  Aikin  solved  the  riddle,  and  so  will  we 


A  PEEP  INTO  THE  RICH  POOR  MAN  S  HOUSE.  83 

Agnes  was  the  eldest  child  of  a  worthy  and  very 
poor  neighbour  of  Mrs.  Aikin.  Her  father  had 
been  disabled  for  some  months,  by  falling  froyw  * 
building,  and  had  recently  died ;  her  mother  had 
lost  her  health  from  over-exertion.  Agnes  had  an 
idiot  sister,  and  two  brothers  too  young  to  render 
the  family  any  assistance.  Mrs.  Aikin,  foreseeing 
the  distress  of  the  family  after  they  should  have 
exhausted  the  father's  earnings,  and  knowing  that 
Agnes  was  a  diligent  and  good  girl,  and  had  been 
well  taught  plain  sewing  in  a  public  school,  offered 
to  instruct  her  in  making  vests,  a  very  profitable 
business  to  those  who  are  skilled  in  it,  and  can 
command  work  from  the  first  merchant  tailors. 
There  were  some  obstacles  in  the  way :  Agnes 
could  only  be  spared  from  home  at  odd  intervals, 
and  often  only  at  times  very  inconvenient  to  Susan 
Aikin  ;  but  who,  as  Susan  said,  would  ever  do  any 
good  in  this  world  if  they  made  mountains  of  mole- 
hills ?  Those  who  saw  her  multiplied  cares,  her 
bee-like  industry,  would  rather  have  said  she 
made  molehills  of  mountains.  She  always  re- 
ceived Agnes  with  a  smile,  always  found  a  quiet 
corner  for  her,  and  made  leisure  to  attend  to  her. 
Agnes,  seeing  the  efforts  and  sacrifices  her  kind 
friend  made  for  her,  set  the  right  value  upon  the 
good  she  was  obtaining,  and  performed  her  part 
with  fidelity. 

Many  complaints  are  made  of  the  low  rates  of 
women's  wages — some  just,  no  doubt ;  but,  for  the 
most  part,  they  are  paid  according  to  their  capaci- 
ty. A  well-qualified  seamstress,  tailoress,  or  mil- 
liner, can,  except  in  very  rare  cases,  obtain  certain 
employment  and  good  pay:  a  half-taught  and 


84  THE    POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

careless  worker  must  take  her  chance  for  slop- 
work, at  low  wages.  Susan  Aikin  could  at  all 
times  command  work  from  the  most  respectable 
houses,  was  sure  of  the  highest  wages,  and  inci- 
dental favours  that  she  knew  how  to  turn  to  ac- 
count. "  Now,  Agnes,  my  child,"  she  had  said  on 
the  day  previous  to  this  on  which  we  have  intro- 
duced her  young  friend,  "  here  is  a  trial  vest  for 
you ;  I  have  got  leave  from  my  employers  to  put 
it  into  your  hands  ;  you  must  set  every  stitch  in 
it ;  and,  if  it  is  done  to  their  satisfaction,  you  are  to 
have  as  much  of  their  best  work  as  you  can  do, 
which  is  as  good  as  a  promise  of  six  dollars  a 
week  to  you — a  sure  support  for  your  poor  mother, 
and  helpless  sister,  and  little  brothers.  Better,  my 
child,  to  trust  to  diligent,  skilful  hands,  than  to 
widows'  societies,  and  assistance  societies,  and  so 
on  ;  leave  those  for  such  as  can  get  nothing  better, 
while  we  use  the  means  of  independence  that 
Providence  has  given  us." 

"  But  if  I  should  fail,  Mrs.  Aikin  ?" 

"  Why,  then  there  is  one  comfort  left,  we  can 
try  again  ;  but  you  will  ,not  fail." 

Thus  stimulated  and  encouraged,  Agnes  set  to 
work,  and,  as  has  been  seen,  accomplished  her  task, 
and  no  wonder  that  she  shed  tears  of  joy  when  it 
was  done.  Which,  we  would  ask,  was  happiest — 
which  richest ;  he  who  paid  fifteen  dollars  for  the 
vest,  or  she  who  earned  the  dollar  by  making  it, 
and  thereby  cheered  the  hearts  of  the  desolate,  and 
brought  comfort  and  light  to  a  dreary  home  ?  or, 
which  is  happiest — richest. ;  she  -who  is  lapped  in 
luxury,  and  is  every  day  seeking  some  new  and 
expensive  pleasure,  or  those  who,  like  our  friend 


A  PEEP  INTO  THE  RICH  POOR  MAN?S  HOUSE.    85 

Mrs.  Aikin,  in  some  obscure  place,  are  using  their 
faculties  and  seizing  their  opportunities  of  doing 
good,  never  to  be  known  and  praised  by  the  world, 
but  certainly  recorded  in  the  book  of  life  ? 

While  the  vest  was  passing  round  to  be  exam- 
ined and  praised  by  Aunt  Lottie,  Uncle  Phil,  and 
all,  for  their  joys  were  in  common  in  this  little 
family,  Aikin  entered,  and  had  his  share  in  the 
general  pleasure ;  but  his  brow  soon  clouded. 
Children  are  quick  readers  of  faces  they  love. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  father  ?"  asked  Willie ; 
"  is  that  ugly  pain  in  your  breast  come  again  ?" 

"  No,  something  worse,  Willie ;  a  pain  in  my 
heart." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  Susan,  anxiously. 
Every  eye  now  turned  to  Aikin. 

"  It's  poor  M'Elroy's  troubles  again.  He  called 
me  in  as  I  was  passing.  There  lay  his  wife  on 
the  floor,  dead  drunk.  Returning  from  the  grocer's, 
she  slipped  down  the  cellar  stairs,  and  is  so  black 
and  bruised,  her  head  so  swollen,  you  would  not 
know  her.  The  children  were  crying,  and  he 
wringing  his  hands  and  saying,  '  I  can  bear  it  no 
longer.'  He,  every  week  of  his  life,  earns  more 
than  I  do,  and  this  bad  woman  wastes  it.  This 
comes  of  marrying  a  poor,  ignorant,  ill-brought-up 
girl,  who  had  nothing  but  a  pretty  face  to  recom- 
mend her.  M'Elroy  says  his  children  are  going 
to  destruction.  She  makes  them  play  truant,  sends 
them  out  begging,  puts  lies  into  their  mouths, 
and,  last  and  worse  than  all,  gives  them  rum  to 
drink." 

"  Dear  me  !  dear  me  !"  exclaimed  Susan,  "  what 
can  be  done  for  them  ?" 

H 


86  THE    POOR    RICK    MAN,    ETC. 

"He  says  but  one  thing — he  must  turn  her 
adrift ;  he  has  forgiven  and  forgiven  till  he  is  tired 
of  it," 

"  Ah,  there  is  but  one  Being  that  is  never  tired 
of  forgiving!" 

"  The  poor  fellow  has  been  very  patient,  though; 
but  he  says,  for  his  children's  sake,  he  must  break 
up  ;  they  are  going  to  ruin.  He  has  engaged 
places  for  them  all  but  little  Sam  ;  no  one  is  wil- 
ling to  take  him  for  the  price  M'Elroy  can  pay." 

"  Not  willing  to  take  Sam,  father !"  interrupted 
Mary ;  "  I  should  think  they  would  be  willingest 
of  all  to  take  Sam." 

"Why,  Mary?" 

"  Because  he  wants  taking  care  of  most." 

"  Ah,  Mary,  that's  a  rule  few  go  by.  It's  no 
joke,"  continued  Aikin  to  his  wife,  "  for  the  poor 
fellow  to  board  out  himself  and  four  children,  for 
there's  not  one  of  them  yet  old  enough  to  earn  his 
own  living." 

"  Sam's  a  bright  boy,"  said  Uncle  Phil. 

"  And  a  poor,  sickly  little  fellow,  that's  been  cru- 
elly neglected,"  said  Aunt  Lottie. 

"  It  would  be  a  comfort  to  see  if  care  and  man- 
agement would  not  cure  him,"  said  Susan  Aikin. 

"  M'Elroy  can  pay  half  a  dollar  a  week,  which 
I  think  will  pay  for  all  the  poor  little  fellow  can 
consume  in  his  present  state,"  said  Aikin. 

"  It  is  an  opportunity,"  said  Susan,  seeming  to 
think  aloud. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Susan  ?"  asked  her  hus- 
band. 

"  Nothing ;  I  was  only  thinking  it  was  an  op- 
portunity." Her  husband  smiled.  "  Well,"  she 


A  PEEP  INTO  THE  RICH  POOR  MAN*S  HOUSE.  87 

added,  "  I  am  superstitious  about  that :  the  oppor- 
tunities are  given,  and  it  is  our  business  to  improve 
them,  and  it  always  makes  me  feel  bad  when  I 
have  let  one  slip  by:  the  same  never  offers  twice." 

"  Speak  out  plain,  wife  :  what  do  you  mean  V9 

It  was  now  Susan's  turn  to  smile.  "  You  know 
what  I  mean,  Harry.  It  would  not  be  right  for  us 
to  run  into  any  expense  for  a  neighbour's  child, 
but  care  and  kindness  we  can  give — they  cost  us 
nothing.  Lottie  is  the  best  of  doctors,  and  I  think, 
among  us,  we  could  cure  up  little  Sam ;  and  that 
would  be  a  comfort." 

"  But,"  asked  her  husband,  "  are  you  not  afraid 
to  bring  a  child  that  has  been  in  the  hands  of  that 
bad  woman  among  our  children  ?" 

"  No,  our  children  all  pull  one  way ;  and  if  they 
see  any  thing  wrong  we  shall  know,  for  they  are 
true  and  open  as  the  day.  Poor  little  Sam  has  not 
been  sent  into  the  streets  like  the  other  children ; 
and,  if  he  has  caught  some  of  their  bad  habits, 
surely  they  may  be  cured  in  one  so  young.  We 
have  no  money  to  give  away,  husband  ;  but  of  such 
as  we  have  we  can  give,  and  hope  for  the  Lord's 
blessing  upon  the  gift." 

The  whole  family,  old  and  young,  were  of 
Susan's  mind.  The  little  boy  was  brought  into  the 
shelter  of  their  fold ;  and  soon,  under  the  kind  and 
judicious  management  of  Lottie  and  Susan,  his 
unstrung,  weak,  dropsical  figure,  was  braced  to 
health  and  activity ;  his  eye  brightened,  and  his 
sallow  cheek  changed  to  the  natural  hue  of  child- 
hood. Good  principles  and  good  habits  were  im- 
planted, and  good  feeling  cherished ;  and  he  who 
must  have  perished  in  a  miserable  childhood,  or 


88  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

have  dragged  on  a  mischievous,  or,  at  best,  a  worth- 
less existence,  held  up  his  head  in  after  life  among- 
his  fellows,  a  prosperous,  useful,  and  respected 
citizen. 

Truly  did  Susan  Aikin  say,  "  God   gives  the 
opportunity ;"  and  well  did  she  improve  it ' 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    RICH    POOR    MAN'S    CHARITIES. 

YEARS  to  the  thirteenth  of  their  marriage  glided 
on  without  any  marked  change  in  the  condition  of 
the  Aikins.  Industry,  frugality,  skill,  and  sound 
judgment,  saved  them  from  dependance  and  wants. 
But  they  had  a  large  family  to  supply  ;  two  unpro- 
ductive members,  as  we  were  about  to  designate 
Uncle  Phil  and  Charlotte,  but  this  would  be  injustice 
to  them.  Charlotte's  thoughtfulness,  and  her  doing 
the  light  chores,  saved  Susan  many  an  hour,  which 
she  turned  to  account  at  her  trade  ;  and  Uncle  Phil's 
skill  in  baby-tending  proved  also  a  great  economy  of 
the  mother's  time.  There  are  certain  persons  in 
this  world  that  are  most  happily  adapted  to  the 
miscellaneous  office  of  baby-tending.  They  are 
your  people  that  don't  care  about  bringing  any  thing 
to  pass — indisposed  to  great  exertions  certainly, 
but  not  positively  lazy  ;  easy-tempered  and  kind- 
hearted,  such  as  prefer  the  one-horse  chaise  travel- 
ling to  the  locomotion  of  a  railroad — such  was  our 


RICH  POOR  MAN'S  CHARITIES.      89 

good  Uncle  Phil.  But  with  all  Aikin's  diligence, 
and  all  his  wife's  efficiency,  their  inevitable  expenses 
exhausted  their  income,  save  that  a  small  sum  was 
husbanded  each  year  as  a  provision  in  case  of  sud- 
den calamity.  We  confess  that  our  friends  re- 
mained poor,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the 
word ;  but  whether  those  were  really  so  who  had 
few  desires  ungratified — who  were  enjoying  the 
essential  blessings  of  life — who  were  giving  their 
children,  in  the  home  school,  the  very  best  educa- 
tion, and  whose  humble  habitation  was  the  abode 
of  health  and  contentment,  we  leave  for  those  to 
decide  who  have  felt  that  these  goods  riches  can- 
not buy. 

William,  the  eldest  boy,  was  one  morning  stand- 
ing by  his  father's  cart  in  Pearl-street,  when  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  poor  man,  who,  in 
coming  out  of  the  door  of  a  warehouse,  staggered, 
and,  catching  by  the  iron  railing,  sunk  down  on  the 
step.  Half  a  dozen  boys  gathered  about  him,  one 
crying,  "  He's  top-heavy !"  Another, "  Try  it  again, 
old  fellow !" — "  Drunken  rascal !"  muttered  a  gen- 
tleman, passing  along. 

"  I  am  not  drunk,"  faintly  replied  the  old. man. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  sir  ?"  asked  William,  draw- 
ing near,  as  the  other  boys,  perceiving  their  mistake 
slunk  away. 

"  I  am  starved,  child  !" 

William  looked  round  for  his  father — he  was  ii 
the  warehouse — and  the  boy  ran  into  an  oyster- 
cellar,  and  expending  his  only  shilling,  returned 
with  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  saucer  of  hot  oysters, 
which  the  poor  man  devoured  as  if  he  were  indeed 
starving.  Then  lifting  his  grateful  eye  to  William, 
H2 


90  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

and  meeting  his  earnest  and  pitiful  glance,  he 
burst  into  tears.  At  this  moment  Aikin  appeared, 
and  William  whispered  to  him  what  had  occurred. 
Aikin  recognised  the  man  as  a  person  he  had  fre- 
quently met  during  the  preceding  week  inquiring 
for  work  ;  he  put  a  few  questions  in  a  friendly 
tone,  that  inspired  the  stranger  with  confidence ; 
and,  in  return,  he  told  him  that  he  had  been  a  poor 
English  curate — that  many  years  ago  his  youngest 
daughter  had  married  imprudently  and  come  to 
America — that  the  last  he  had  heard  of  her  was 
four  years  before,  when  he  received  a  hasty,  ille- 
gible scrawl,  in  which  she  informed  him  that  she 
was  a  widow,  and  had  embarked  on  board  the  ship 
.  from  which  she  then  wrote  to  return  to  him — that 
her  child  exhibiting  symptoms  of  varioloid,  she  was 
ordered  off  the  ship,  and  knew  not  what  was  to  be- 
come of  her.  The  father,  after  waiting  till,  as  he 
said,  he  could  live  and  wait  no  longer,  had  con- 
verted his  little  property  into  money,  and  come 
with  an  elder  daughter  in  search  of  the  lost  one. 
He  had  arrived  here  at  the  beginning  of  the  in- 
clement season — he  had  obtained  no  intelligence 
of  his  child — his  eldest  daughter,  whose  efficien- 
cy and  fortitude  he  mainly  relied  on,  took  a  cold, 
with  which  she  languished  through  the  winter,  and 
had  died  two  weeks  before.  His  health  was  broken, 
his  heart  gone,  and  his  little  stock  of  money  expend- 
ed to  the  last  farthing.  Hunger  had  driven  him 
forth  to  seek  employment  to  support  a  life  that  had 
become  a  burden  to  him,  but  employment  he  could 
not  find  :  and,  "  when  I  sunk  down  here,"  he  con- 
cluded, "  I  was  glad  the  time  of  release  had  come  ; 


THE   RICH    POOR    MAN'S    CHARITIES.        91 

but  when  that  little  fellow  spoke  kindly  to  me,  I 
felt  as  if  Providence  had  not  forsaken  me." 

Aikin  listened  to  the  story,  and  was  silent. 
"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  about  him  ?"  whisper- 
ed William,  rightly  interpreting  his  father's  per- 
plexity. 

"  I  hardly  know,  Willie."—"  Oh,"  thought  he, 
"  if  Mr.  Beckwith  were  only  in  town — he  has 
money,  and  time,  and  a  heart  for  every  one's 
need !" 

After  a  moment's  consideration,  he  determined 
to  go  into  the  warehouse,  not  so  much  to  apply  to 
its  proprietor,  Morris  Finley,  for  aid,  as  to  consult 
with  some  gentlemen  as  to  what  aid  had  best  be 
extended  to  the  stranger.  One  suggested  the  hos- 
pital. JJThere  was  no  reason  for  taking  him  there, 
as  he  had  no  disease.  The  almshouse  was  pro- 
posed by  another.  Aikin  replied,  that  a  trifling 
present  succour  might  save  him  from  the  degrada- 
tion of  public  charity,  and  in  a  short  time  he  might 
earn  his  own  support.  Finley,  after  rummaging 
his  pockets,  said  he  had  no  change  ;  and  then  ad- 
ded, probably  in  reply  to  the  contemptuous  expres- 
sion of  Aikin's  face,  that  there  was  no  knowing 
but  the  man  was  an  impostor,  and,  besides,  he  made 
it  a  rule  never  to  give  to  strangers. 

"  It  is  a  good  time  to  make  acquaintance  with 
a  stranger,"  said  Aikin,  "  when  he  is  dying  of  star- 
vation." Finley  turned  on  his  heel,  and  busied 
himself  in  giving  directions  to  his  clerks,  who  but 
half  concealed  the  smile  of  satisfaction  which  hov- 
ered on  their  lips  at  the  "  good  rub,"  as  they  called 
it,  their  master  had  got  from  Aikin.  A  gentleman 
standing  by  gave  Aikin  five  dollars,  saying,  "  Yo\i 


Q2  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

have  good  judgment — employ  this  as  you  think 
best  for  the  poor  man :  I  have  money,  but  no  time, 
to  give." 

And  what  time  has  a  New-York  merchant,  who 
is  making  his  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands, 
engrossed  as  he  is  with  projects  and  calculations, 
and  beset  by  the  hopes  and  fears  that  accompany 
the  accumulation  of  riches,  and  their  possible 
loss — what  time  has  he  for  the  claims  of  human 
brotherhood  ? — what  time  to  obey  the  injunction, 
"Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens?" — what  time  to 
imitate  his  Divine  Master  in  going  about  doing 
good  ? — what  time  to  seek  the  lost,  raise  the  fall- 
en, strengthen  the  weak,  among  his  brethren — the 
children  of  one  Father — travellers  to  one  home  ? 
He  may  find  time  for  a  passing  alms,  but  for  pro- 
tection, for  advice,  for  patient  sympathy,  for  those 
effective  charities  that  his  knowledge,  station,  and 
influence  put  within  his  power,  he  has  no  time. 
For  what  consideration  does  he  cede  this  irre- 
deemable treasure,  time  ?  And  when  conscience 
shall  ask,  "  When  thou  wert  conceiving  schemes 
of  unlimited  wealth,  examining  invoices,  and 
counting  gains,  where  was  thy  brother .?"  will  he  not 
wish  to  have  been  the  rich  poor  man  who,  in  the 
name  of  Jesus,  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  that 
neglected  brother  ? 

When  Aikin  returned  to  the  steps,  he  commu- 
nicated the  merchant's  bounty  to  the  stranger,  and 
added,  "  If  you  will  get  on  to  my  cart,  and  go  to 
my  house,  my  wife  and  I  will  try  to  make  you 
comfortable  for  the  present,  and  look  out  for  em- 
ployment for  you  against  you  get  your  strength." 

The  stranger  could  not  speak.     His  face,  as  he 


THE    RICH    POOR    MAN'S    CHARITIES.         93 

feebly  moved  towards  the  cart,  expressed  more 
than  words  could. 

"  Where  can  he  sleep,  father  ?"  whispered  Will- 
iam, anticipating  some  little  home  perplexities. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  son ;  but  mother  will  con- 
trive." 

"  Oh,  so  she  will — mother  always  does  contrive 
every  thing  for  everybody." 

Most,  most  happy  are  those  children  who  have 
William's  confidence  in  the  willing,  active  benevo- 
lence of  their  parents.  The  Aikins  had  hit  on  the 
right  and  only  sure  mode  of  teaching  goodness. 

"  Who  upon  'arth  has  Harry  Aikin  brought  home 
with  him?"  exclaimed  Uncle  Phil,  who,  as  Aikin's 
cart  halted  before  the  door,  sat  at  the  window,  as 
usual,  tfrotting  the  baby  on  his  knee.  Susan  Aikin 
was  busy  at  her  needle,  and  did  not  look  up  till 
Anne  exclaimed — 

"  It's  some  poor  gentleman,  mother !" 

She  then  rose,  and  seeing  her  husband  aiding 
the  stranger,  and  William  standing  with  the  door 
wide  open,  his  kind  heart  shining  through  his 
bright  face,  she  opened  the  inner  door,  drew  Char- 
lotte's rocking-chair  to  the  fire,  threw  a  dry  stick 
into  the  stove,  and  received  the  stranger  with  that 
expression  of  cheerful,  sincere  hospitality,  which 
what  is  called  high  breeding  only  imitates. 

"  Sarvent,  sir,"  said  Uncle  Phil,  who  would  have 
been  nowise  disconcerted  if  Aikin  had  brought 
home  a  regiment.  "  Make  your  manners,  Phil." 

Little  Phil  crowed  out  his  welcome,  while  Aunt 
Lottie  warmed  a  cup  of  her  particularly  nice  gruel, 
a  cordial  she  saw  the  poor  man  wanted. 

Aikin  took  his  wife  aside  to  explain  the  stran- 


94  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

gers  condition  and  wants  ;  this  done,  "  I  knew, 
Susan,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  you  to 
do  what  you  could  for  the  poor  man." 

"  Indeed  is  it,  Harry,  and  no  great  trouble  ei- 
ther ;  for  you  know  we  have  plenty  of  beds  and 
bedding,  and,  now  poor  old  Mr.  Smith  is  gone,  they 
can  spare  us  our  cot,  and  I  can  make  him  up  a  nice 
comfortable  bed  in  father's  room ;  nothing  ever 
puts  father  out." 

"  Nor  father's  daughter,  I  think ;  and  that  is  why 
I  am  sometimes  afraid  I  shall  impose  on  you." 

"  Impose  on  me,  Harry  !  in  giving  me  an  oppor- 
tunity to  do  a  kindness  !  That  is  our  chief  com- 
fort." 

There  are  certain  persons  who  do  services  for 
their  fellow-creatures  as  some  children  learn  les- 
sons— as  a  task  prescribed  by  authority.  This 
was  not  Susan's  way.  She  never  separated  the 
idea  of  duty  from  the  deep  abiding  happiness  that 
resulted  from  its  performance. 


AN    ORPHAN    GIRL,  95 


CHAPTER  XL 

AN    ORPHAN    GIRL. 

MR.  BARLOW  (Barlow  was  the  stranger's  name) 
soon  revived  under  the  influence  of  the  Aikins 
hospitalities.  As  he  himself  expressed  it,  kind- 
ness was  the  medicine  he  wanted  ;  and  every  day 
he  felt  its  healing  power. 

"  I  am  not  two  shillings  out  of  pocket  in  a  week 
for  the  poor  man,"  said  Aikin  ;  u  and  I  think,  Su- 
san, we  take  as  much  pleasure  in  seeing  him  re- 
freshed at  our  table,  as  the  rich  do  in  their  dinner- 
parties. To  tell  the  truth,  Susan,  though  I  suppose 
no  one  but  you  would  believe  it,  I  never  did  wish 
to  change  conditions  with  them." 

"  Nor  I,  I  am  sure  ;  they  must  have  a  great  deal 
of  trouble.  I  often  pity  them.  Not  but  that  I  am 
willing  to  take  trouble,  but  then  it  must  be  for 
something  to  be  got  out  of  it." 

This  remark  of  Susan's  led  her  husband  to  sug- 
gest a  project  which,  after  various  emendations 
from  her,  was  soon  after  carried  into  effect.  They, 
like  all  good  parents,  rich  or  poor,  were  steadfastly 
intent  on  the  advancement  of  their  children.  It 
has  been  already  seen  how  much  our  friends  were 
benefited  by  their  early  education — the  common 
and  paramount  blessing  of  New-England.  They 
felt  their  children  to  be  the  gift  of  God,  and,  being 
religious  and  reasoning  beings,  they  fully  realized 


96  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

their  responsibility  to  Him  for  the  use  and  im- 
provement of  this  best  of  his  gifts.  They  were 
sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  condition,  laws, 
institutions,  and  capabilities  of  their  country,  to 
know  how  to  train  their  children  to  profit  by  them, 
and,  when  they  became  men  and  women,  to  reflect 
honour  on  them.  They  sent  them  to  school ;  but 
they  well  knew  that  schools  could  do  but  a  small 
part  towards  their  education.  Home  was  the 
school  in  which  they  were  to  be  taught,  from  the 
first  year  of  their  existence,  by  day  and  by  night, 
in  sickness  and  in  health,  and  their  parents  were 
to  set  them  the  copies  which  they  were  to  follow. 
Besides  instruction  in  virtues  and  manners,  which, 
if  not  learned  at  home,  are  learned  nowhere,  they 
improved  every  opportunity  of  adding  to  their 
knowledge.  Henry  Aikin  often  devoted  a  leisure 
moment  to  looking  over  a  book-stall,  where  valua- 
ble second-hand  books  are  frequently  to  be  ob- 
tained at  low  prices.  He  had  lately  purchased  a 
work  on  natural  history,  with  good  plates,  and  he 
now  proposed  that  Mr.  Barlow,  who  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  subject,  should  give  the  children 
some  instruction  upon  it ;  which,  with  the  aid  of 
the  books,  might  be  made  very  attractive  to  them. 
Susan  suggested,  that  it  was  a  pity  such  an  oppor- 
tunity should  be  confined  to  their  children,  and 
mentioned  two  or  three  worthy  families  whose 
children  might  be  included.  This  led  to  an  exten- 
sion of  the  plan ;  and  it  was  finally  concluded  to 
propose  a  social  meeting,  to  be  held  successively 
at  the  different  families  included.  Mr.  Barlow  waa 
to  give  a  sort  of  lecture,  and,  after  that  was  over, 
the  evening  was  to  be  passed  socially.  "  If  we 


AN    ORPHAN    GIRL.  97 

only  had  that  little  back  room,"  said  Susan,  "  we 
should  want  for  nothing."  The  little  back  room 
was  an  apartment  in  a  back  building,  with  an  en- 
trance from  the  landing  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs. 
It  was  neatly  finished,  had  a  communication  of  its 
own  with  the  yard,  and  a  closet,  large  enough  for 
a  bed,  attached  to  it.  The  Aikins  had  long  wished 
to  add  it  to  their  narrow  accommodations,  and  more 
than  ever  recently,  for  it  had  been  rented  to  a 
woman  who,  from  her  extreme  shyness,  her  being 
visited  only  occasionally  by  a  person  who  called 
himself  her  husband,  and  her  having  a  little  girl 
dressed  in  tawdry  and  shabby  finery,  they  deemed 
a  very  undesirable  neighbour.  Uncle  Phil,  who 
was  the  kindest-hearted  gossip  in  the  world,  but 
still  a  gossip,  retained  his  country  propensity  to 
know  all  about  his  neighbours'  affairs.  He  was 
much  puzzled  by  the  tenant  of  the  back  parlour, 
and  day  after  day  repeated  to  Charlotte  and  Susan, 
"  Who  can  that  woman  be  ?  I  can't  get  sight  of 
her  face  under  that  dum  deep  bonnet  and  veil ; 
but  her  walk  looks  natural,  and  always  puts  me  in 
mind  of  some  of  our  Essex  folks." 

"  That's  odd,  Lottie,"  said  Susan ;  "  don't  you 
remember  my  telling  you  one  day,  when  she  was 
calling  her  little  girl,  that  her  voice  sounded  natu- 
ral ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  she  can't  be  any  one  we  ever  knew." 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  not." 

"I  hope  not,  too,"  said  Uncle  Phil,  "but  I  do 
feel  for  the  little  girl ;  she  looks  so  wishful  after 
our  children,  and  she's  pretty  spoken." 

"  I  feel  for  her,  too,"  said  Susan,  "  but  I  must 
know  something  more  about  her  before  I  should 
I 


98  THE   POOR   RICH    MAN,   ETC. 

feel  it  to  be  right  to  let  the  children  associate  with 
her." 

Uncle  Phil  was  determined,  as  far  as  in  him 
lay,  to  remove  this  objection,  and  to  make  the 
most  of  the  first  ^opportunity  of  rinding  out  some- 
thing about  the  little  stranger ;  so,  the  first  mild 
sunny  day,  he  stationed  himself  at  the  street  door, 
with  the  baby  in  his  arms,  sure  that  the  little  girl, 
who  frequently  passed  in  and  out,  would  be  at- 
tracted by  the  natural  affinities  of  childhood.  She 
soon  appeared,  with  a  pitcher  in  her  hand,  on  her 
way  to  the  pump.  She  would  have  been  extreme- 
ly pretty,  but  that  she  wanted  the  foundation  of  all 
childhood's  beauty — health.  Her  eye  was  sunk- 
en ;  her  cheeks  pale,  and  lips  blue ;  and  she 
looked  peaked  and  cold.  Her  dress  was  thin  and 
shabby.  She  had  a  soiled  silk  frock ;  slippers 
down  at  the  heel ;  a  faded  silk  bonnet,  with  arti- 
ficial flowers  ;  a  carnelian  necklace  and  ear-rings . 
and  a  ragged  French  shawl.  A  sad  contrast  was 
she  to  Anne  and  Ruth  Aikin,  who,  in  their  school- 
dress,  with  a  pail  between  them,  were  preceding 
her  at  the  pump.  They  were*  dressed  in  factory 
frocks,  and  aprons  with  pockets  ;  gingham  hoods  ; 
warm  gray  cloaks  ;  calf-skin  shoes,  and  nice  wool- 
len stockings,  of  Aunt  Lottie's  knitting.  On  they 
ran,  chattering  and  giggling,  while  the  little  shiv- 
ering stranger  lagged  alone  behind  them.  "  I 
know  very  well,  Mary,"  said  Anne,  in  reply  to 
something  from  her  sister,  "  mother  don't  like  us 
to  keep  company  with  girls  she  don't  know;  but, 
then,  I  know  mother  would  not  object  to  our  just 
speaking  kindly  to  her :  I'll  tell  mother  about  it. 
Little  girl,"  raising  her  voice,  "  we've  filled  our 


AN    ORPHAN    GIRL.  99 

pail — hold  up  your  pitcher,  and  I'll  pump  that  full." 
The  courtesies  of  childhood  have  more  expression 
than  form.  The  stranger  held  up  the  pitcher  till 
the  water  ran  over  it,  and  followed  the  little  girls 
back  with  a  lighter  step.  As  she  reached  the 
door-step,  an  impatient  voice  called,  "  Juliet !  Ju- 
liet !"  She  ran  up  the  stairs,  set  her  pitcher  with- 
in the  door,  and  eagerly  returned,  apparently  in 
the  hope  of  again  seeing  the  little  Aikins ;  but  they 
had  gone  in,  and  no  one  was  at  the  door  but  Uncle 
Phil  and  the  baby.  "  So,  your  name  is  Juliet,  is 
it  ?"  he  asked,  eagerly  seizing  on  a  starting-point 
wO  begin  his  acquaintance. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Juliet,  gently  taking  the  hand 
;he  baby  had  stretched  to  snatch  her  ear-ring. 

"  Juliet  what  r  pursued  Uncle  Phil. 

"  Juliet  Smith,  sir." 

"  Smith  ?"  ejaculated  Uncle  Phil,  disappointed 
at  hearing  a  name  that  afforded  no  clew. 

"  Yes,  Smith — at  least  mother's  name  is  Smith." 

"  Then  yours  is,  sartin." 

"  No,  it  is  not,  sir — she  is  not  my  real  mother." 

"  Is  not  ?  do  tell !  what  is  your  real  mother's 
name  T 

"  My  own  mother  is  dead,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  was  her  name,  child  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir ;  take  care,  baby,  don't  pull 
ray  ear  so." 

"  Be  done,  Phil — poor  little  captain,  he  never 
sees  such  notions — our  gals  don't  wear  them.  But 
did  you  never  ask  your  own  mother's  name  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  she  says  she'll  tell  me  all  about 
£.er  one  of  these  days." 

"  Are  you  sure  she  is  dead  ?" 


100  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

"  Sure,  sir  ! — I  saw  her  buried  up  in  the  ground." 
The  tears  poured  down  the  child's  cheeks. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Uncle  Phil,  brushing  his  hand 
across  his  own  eyes,  and  then  drawing  Juliet  close 
to  him — "  is  that  person  you  call  mother  kind  to 
you  T  he  asked. 

"  Sir  ! — almost  always  she  is — sometimes  she  is 
dreadful  sleepy — and  sometimes  she — she  don't  feel 
well — and  then  she  gets  angry  very  easy." 
"  Was  your  own  mother  kind  to  you  ?" 
"  My  own  mother ! — indeed,  indeed  she  was — 
always." 

"  Poor  little  child  !  I  feel  for  you.  How  long 
since  she  died  ?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  know  it  was  winter-time,  and 
we  had  not  any  wood,  when  Mrs.  Smith  came  into 
our  room — but  it  was  not  last  winter — and  I  don't 
know  when  it  was." 

"  Was  this  woman  up  stairs  any  kin  to  you  ?" 
"  No,  she  did  not  even  know  mother  before  that 
time — she  was  angry  about  something  when  she 
came  in ;  but,  when  she  saw  how  sick  mother  was, 
and  that  I  was  lying  close  to  her  to  warm  her,  for 
I  told  you  we  had  not  any  wood,  sir,  she  seemed 
very  sorry  for  mother,  and  she  cried — and  mother 
sent  me  out  of  the  room — and  she  took  care  of 
mother  almost  all  the  time  till  she  died — it  was  not 
long,  though — for  I  remember  there  was  a  bit  of 
the  loaf  of  bread  she  brought  lying  by  mother  when 
she  died.  Now  I  am  afraid  she  is  getting  sick 
just  as  mother  was,  for  she  coughs  all  night." 

Before  Uncle  Phil  had  time  for  any  more  inter- 
rogatories, Juliet  was  again  called,  and  he  went 


AN   ORPHAN   GIRL.  101 

into  his  daughter's  room  to  enjoy  the  next  best 
pleasure  to  hearing  news,  viz. — telling  it. 

"  So,  you  see,"  he  said,  concluding  his  story, 
"  it  was  not  strange  I  felt  a  kind  of  yearning  to- 
wards that  poor  child  ;  and  since  she's  turned  to 
be  an  orphan-like,  neglected  little  body,  I  hope, 
gals  (to  Charlotte  and  Mrs.  Aikin),  you'll  take  her 
by  the  hand." 

Never  were  persons  more  ready  to  listen  ^to 
such  counsel.  Mrs.  Aikin  had  forbidden  all  inter- 
course with  the  forlorn  little  stranger,  but  the  case 
now  assumed  a  new  aspect ;  and,  when  Aikin  came 
home  to  dinner,  their  duty  to  the  child  was  dis- 
cussed in  a  committee  of  the  whole  family ;  Uncle 
Phil,  as  was  his  wont,  spoke  first.  His  thoughts 
were  all  on  the  surface,  and,  as  soft  substances  ea- 
sily melt,  they  naturally  ran  into  words. 

"  It's  my  firm  opinion,"  he  said,  "  that  this  Miss 
Smith  is  not  a  great  deal  better  than  she  should  be 
— I  always  suspect  your  people  that  ain't  sociable 
and  open-hearted  ;  and  what  kind  of  a  husband  is 
that  she's  got,  that  comes  slinking  in,  his  face 
buried  in  the  cape  of  his  cioak  ?  They'll  jusc  bring 
up  that  child — and  she's  a  capital  child,  I  tell  you 
— to  destruction.  I  feel  as  if  you  ought  to  do 
something  about  it." 

"  What  can  we  do,  Susan  ?"  said  Aikin,  appeal- 
ing to  his  wife. 

"  I  don't  know ;  but,  as  father  says,  I  feel  as  if 
it  would  be  a  comfort  to  do  something." 

"  I  have  two  pairs  of  nice  warm  stockings  that 
would  about  fit  her,"  said  Aunt  Lottie,  "  and  our 
children  are  supplied  for  the  winter." 

"  Oh,  mother !"  said  Anne,  "  mayn't  she  have 
12 


102  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,   ETC. 

one  of  my  warm  frocks  ? — I  can  do  with  one,  and 
she  looks  so  shivery !" 

"  And,  father,"  said  William,  "  if  you  will  only 
give  her  the  rest,  I  will  give  her  my  four  shillings 
towards  a  pair  of  good  shoes.  I  saw  her  coming 
in  the  other  day,  with  her  feet  so  wet  and  cold 
that  she  could  not  help  crying." 

"  Mother,"  said  little  Ruth,  "  can't  you  and 
Aunt  Lottie  cdntrive  her  such  a  petticoat  as  you 
made  for  me,  of  old  pieces,  with  cotton  quilted 
between  them  ?  you  may  take  my  patchwork  for 
the  lining." 

"  My  friends,"  said  Mr.  Barlow,  who  sat  listen- 
ing with  extreme  interest  to  these  promptings  of 
the  heart,  "  may  I  put  in  my  mite  ?  Cannot  the 
little  girl  come  into  our  evening  class  ?  She  may 
gain  something  from  my  instructions,  and  she  can- 
not fail  to  profit  by  intercourse  with  your  children." 

The  Aikins  most  cheerfully  acquiesced  in  this 
suggestion.  "  The  warm  garments,"  Susan  said, 
"  would  only  be  a  present  comfort,  but  a  good  done 
to  her  mind  would  be  lasting ;  and  she  feared  no 
evil  to  arise  to  her  children  while  their  intercourse 
with  the  little  stranger  was  under  her  own  eye." 

Blessed  are  those  families  who  call  within  their 
fold  some  of  the  wandering  lambs  of  the  flock ! 
One  more  point  was  to  be  gained.  The  insupera- 
ble obstacle  to  conferring  a  benefit  often  arises 
from  the  party  to  be  benefited.  Mrs.  Aikin  was 
desirous  to  see  Juliet's  present  protector.  Some 
curiosity,  we  do  not  deny,  she  felt  to  see,  face  to 
face,  the  person  whose  gait  and  voice  had  struck 
her  father  and  herself  as  familiar;  but  she  was 
mainly  anxious  to  ascertain  the  child's  condition 


AN    ORPHAN    GIRL.  103 

and  prospects.  She  therefore  intercepted  Julifit 
in  the  entry,  and  asked  her  to  tell  her  mother  she 
wished  to  speak  with  her.  Juliet  returned  imme- 
diately, saying,  "  Her  mother  was  too  busy." 

"  Come  down,  then,  Juliet,  and  let  me  know  as 
soon  as  she  is  at  leisure."  Juliet  smiled,  bowed 
her  head  assentingly,  and  was  seen  no  more  that 
day.  The  next,  a  similar  effort  was  baffled  by  a 
like  evasion.  On  the  third,  Mrs.  Aikin  went  her- 
self to  the  door,  knocked,  and,  after  some  bustle, 
Juliet  opened  a  crack,  just  enough  to  show  her 
face,  which  was  died  with  blushes,  as  she  said, 
"  Mother  says  she  don't  wish  at  any  time  to  see 
strangers." 

"  Then  let  the  door  remain  ajar,  Juliet,  while  I 
speak  to  her."  She  concisely  communicated  her 
plan,  and  requested  that  Juliet  might  regularly  at- 
tend with  the  class.  When  she  had  finished, 
"  Oh,  please — please,  ma'am,"  said  Juliet,  "  wait 
one  minute !" 

Again  the  door  was  shut,  and  there  were  earnest 
whisperings  within  ;  the  latch  was  then  lifted,  and 
Juliet  most  joyfully  cried — "  I  may  come,  I  may 
come  !" 

There  is  one  thing  more  delightful  than  to  make 
a  child  happy — the  expectation  that  the  happiness 
will  lead  to  permanent  good 


104  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

"  SOCIETY"  AT  THE  POOR  MAN'S  HOUSE. 
f 

"Be  ye  given  to  hospitality." 

ALL  the  preliminaries  were  arranged,  and  the 
time  arrived  for  the  first  sociable,  as  the  parties  had 
agreed  to  call  their  meeting.  They  all  belonged, 
according  to  the  common  classification,  to  the 
lower  orders — shame  to  us  that  we  do  not  abjure 
terms  inappropriate  to  our  country.  Our  humble 
friends,  having  no  help,  were  obliged  to  make  con- 
siderable efforts  to  effect  their  meetings ;  but  when 
persons  set  about  in  earnest  to  obtain  a  moder- 
ate good,  they  will  find,  or  make  a  way,  to  com- 
pass the  means.  Aunt  Lottie  was  always  at  home 
to  see  to  the  youngest  children — there  was  a  care- 
taking  old  grandmother  in  one  family — another 
had  a  kind  "  Cousin  Sally"  ready  to  lend  a  hand — 
and  one  good  mother  "  would  manage  any  way 
rather  than  lose  such  a  privilege  for  her  children." 
So,  at  six  o'clock,  the  prescribed  time,  the  members 
of  the  sociable,  numbering  thirty,  parents  and  chil- 
dren included,  assembled  at  the  Aikins'.  Their 
room  had  the  air  of  comfort  that  tidiness  and  ju- 
diciou§  arrangement  can  give  to  the  commonest 
apartment.  The  bed  (it  must  be  remembered  the 
Aikins  were  yet  obliged  to  make  one  room  serve 
for  kitchen,  bedroom,  and  parlour),  the  bed  was 
made  up  as  nicely  as  a  shaking  Quaker's,  and  cov- 


"  SOCIETY"  AT  THE  POOR  MAN'S  HOUSE.  105 

«red  by  a  patchwork  quilt — the  work  and  pride  of 
the  little  Aikins,  and  the  admiration  of  the  matrons. 
A  substantial  rag  carpet  was  spread  over  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor.  The  stove,  a  mournful  substitute 
for  the  cheerful,  open  fireplace  of  the  olden  time, 
was  black  and  shining  as  stove  could  be.  Uncle 
Phil's  cushioned  chair,  and  Aunt  Lottie's  stuffed 
one,  stood  on  either  side  of  the  stove.  The  win- 
dow-ledges were  filled  with  the  prettiest  screens — 
plants,  Aunt  Lottie's  charge — the  stoutest  in  pots, 
and  the  nurslings  in  well-patched  teapots  and  mugs. 
A  Connecticut  clock  (bless  the  economical  artists 
that  have  placed  within  the  reach  of  every  poor  man 
this  domestic  friend  and  faithful  monitor)  stood  on 
the  mantel-piece.  A  curtain  was  drawn  aside  from 
two  book-shelves,  filled  with  excellent  books;  the 
most  conspicuous  were  a  Bible,  a  Hymn-book,  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  a  Compend  of  Universal  Histo- 
ry, History  of  America,  the  American  Revolution,  a 
Life  of  Washington,  and  a  Constitution  of  the  Uni- 
ted States,  bound  up  with  Washington's  Farewell 
Address.  Underneath  these  shelves  was  a  pine 
table,  with  a  pile  of  books,  slates,  and  writing- 
books,  two  clearly-burning  lamps  on  it,  and  a 
chair  for  Mr.  Barlow  and  benches  for  the  children 
beside  it.  A  smaller  table  was  placed  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  ;  and  on  it,  bright  as  burnished 
gold,  two  brass  candlesticks,  which  Susan  had  in- 
herited from  her  grandmother,  and  which  proudly 
bore  two  good  mould  candles  of  her  thrifty  grand- 
child's running.  On  another  table,  under  the  glass, 
was  3  waiter,  with  a  nice  napkin,  which  covered  a 
simple  treat  of  biscuits  and  butter,  cakes,  nuts,  and 
apples  ;  and  on  the  stove  a  pot  of  cocoa. 


106  THE    fOOR   RICH   MAN,   ETC. 

"  We  none  of  us,"  Harry  Aikin  had  said,  when 
arranging  the  sociables  with  his  friends,"  spend  a 
penny  at  the  dram-shop,  so  we  may  well  afford 
a  little  family  cheer  at  home,  where  wives  and  chil- 
dren can  partake  with  us  ;  and  thus  the  good  things 
God  gives  us  may  be  used  to  nourish  our  affections.'' 
May  not  this  be  esteemed  a  mode  of  obedience  to 
the  Christian  law— eating  and  drinking  to  the  glory 
of  God  1 

Our  details  may  be  tiresome ;  but  do  they  not 
show  that,  in  this  country,  real  comforts,  and  even 
the  best  pleasures  of  life — hospitality,  liberality, 
and  charity — can  be  attained  by  the  poor,  if  intel* 
ligent  and  managing?  that  they  are  not  compelled, 
even  the  less-favoured  portions  of  them,  to  exhaust 
life  in  painful  efforts  to  keep  soul  and  body  togeth- 
er? but  that,  by  exertion  and  contrivance,  they 
may  cultivate  their  own  and  their  children's  minds 
and  hearts,  and  advance  them  in  that  upward 
course  open  to  all.  Let  others  glory  in  the 
countries  of  luxuries  and  the  arts ;  let  us  thank 
God  that  ours  is  filled  with  blessings  for  the  poor 
man. 

Mr.  Barlow  selected  the  horse  and  the  cow,  as 
the  most  useful  animals  to  man,  for  the  subjects  of 
his  first  lecture.  He  was  a  sincerely  and  earnest- 
ly religious  man ;  and  he  believed  ignorance  to  be 
the  most  fruitful  source  of  irreligion,  and  that,  the 
more  the  mind  was  awakened  to  the  wonders  of 
creation,  the  more  it  understood  of  the  wisdom  and 
benevolence  of  the  contrivances  of  the  Creator, 
the  more  certainly  would  it  reject  the  bad  seed  of 
infidelity  that  is  sowed  at  broadcast  with  such 
cruel  industry, 


"SOCIETY"  AT  THE  POOR  MAN'S  HOUSE.  107 

The  children,  at  first,  thought  they  knew  every 
thing  to  be  known  about  horses  and  cows  ;  some 
of  their  parents  thought  so  too,  and  looked  up  to 
the  clock,  secretly  hoping  the  lecture  would  not 
last  long ;  but  while  Mr.  Barlow  described,  in  the 
simplest  possible  terms,  the  structure  of  these  ani- 
mals— the  provisions  for  their  own  enjoyment,  and 
their  adaptation  to  the  wants  of  man, — while  he 
told  particulars  of  their  history  and  habits  in  differ- 
ent countries,  and  related  some  authentic  anec» 
dotes  of  them — the  clock  struck  seven,  and  the 
pointer  was  approaching  to  eight  when  he  finished, 
He  was  saluted  with  the  most  unequivocal  of  all 
compliments  to  speakers,  of,  "  Oh,  how  short  l'r 
and,  "  Please,  Mr.  Barlow,  go  on."  He  thanked 
the  audience  for  their  attention;  said  he  would 
put  off  going  on  till  the  next  meeting,  when  he  ex-r 
pected  the  children  would  show  him  their  books, 
with  the  best  drawings  they  could  make  of  a  horse 
and  a  cow,  and  as  much  of  his  lecture  as  they 
could  remember,  neatly  written  down.  The  chil- 
dren then  formed  into  little  knots,  some  playing  at 
jack-straws  and  some  at  checkers.  The  treat  was 
served,  and  Sam  M'Elroy  (now  a  sturdy  boy,  ap- 
prenticed to  a  farmer  on  Long  Island)  proposed  to 
his  companions  that  they  should  pick  out  nuts  for 
the  girls.  While  this  boyish  gallantry  was  being 
executed,  "  Do  you  really  believe,  William  Aikin," 
said  John  Miner,  "  all  Mr.  Barlow  said  about 
horses  ?  I  know  very  well  they  are  so  made  as 
to  be  strong,  and  fleet,  and  spry ;  but  do  you  really 
believe  a  horse  has  thoughts  and  feelings?  I  think 
it's  just  of  a  piece  with  a  fairy  story." 

"  That's  because,  John,  you  are  not  acquainted 


108  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC 

with  horses.  I  am  sure  father's  horse  knows  more 
than  some  men,  and  feels  more,  too.  When  I  go 
into  the  stable,  he  turns  his  head  and  gives  me  a 
look  that  all  but  says,  '  How  d'ye  do,  Will  ?'  and 
he  will  lay  his  head  against  me  just  as  our  baby 
does  ;  that  must  be  feeling,  John :  he  don't  do  so 
to  a  stranger.  He  knows,  as  well  as  I  do,  the 
places  he  is  in  the  habit  of  stopping  at ;  arid  if  you 
could  see  how  impatient  he  is  to  get  home  to  his 
stable  at  night,  you  would  own  he  had  hope  or 
expectation,  and  there  must  be  thought  for  that — 
thought  of  the  rest  and  food  that's  coming.  I  don't 
know  the  truth  of  what  Mr.  Barlow  says  about  the 
superior  intelligence  of  horses  in  Asia,  where  they 
are  treated  like  companions  and  friends ;  but  I  be- 
lieve it,  for,  as  far  as  I  have  seen,  whatever  thinks 
and  feels  is  the  better  for  being  well  treated." 

"That's  true,  I  believe,  William,"  said  Sam 
M'Elroy ;  "  Mr.  Birt  has  a  little  heifer  among  his 
cows  that  is  the  crossest,  snarlingest  thing  you 
ever  saw :  not  one  of  the  boys  or  men  either  can 
milk  her,  but  she'll  stand  as  patient  as  a  lamb  to 
Nannie  Smith.  I  told  you  about  Nannie  :  she  is 
the  girl  that  is  so  kind  to  everybody ;  and  she  al- 
ways speaks  softly  to  the  heifer,  and  pats  her,  and 
strokes  her,  and  the  men  kick  her  and  beat  her." 
"  Well,  then,  Sam,"  resumed  John  Miner,  "  I 
suppose  you  think  cows  have  feelings  ?" 

"  Cows  have  feelings  ! — to  be  sure  I  do.  You 
should  see  a  cow  meet  her  calf  after  they  have 
been  apart  a  day ;  and  you  should  hear  her  moan- 
ings  when  the  calf  is  taken  away  from  her. 
Ah,"  added  the  poor  boy,  sighing,  as  some  pain- 
ful recollections  pressed  on  him,  "  cows  have  a 
great  deal  more  feeling  than  some  mothers." 


"  SOCIETY"  AT  THE  POOR  MAN'S  HOUSE.  109 

"  Well,"  said  John  Miner,  after  a  little  reflec- 
tion, "  I  don't  know  but  Mr.  Barlow  and  you  are 
right,  boys.  Any  how,  I  hope  I  never  shall  abuse 
an  animal  as  I  have  seen  some  people.  I  think — 
don't  you,  William? — people  would  be  a  great  deal 
better  if  they  knew  about  things." 

"  Yes,  I  do,  John ;  and  I  was  thinking  almost 
the,  very  same  thing  when  Mr.  Barlow  was  ex- 
plaining to  us  some  parts  of  the  anatomy  of  the 
horse  and  cow.  I  thought,  when  God  had  seemed 
to  take  such  pains  to  contrive  them,  so  that  they 
might  enjoy  their  lives,  it  was  a  horrid  shame  for 
men  to  beat,  and  kick,  and  maim  God's  wonderful 
work." 

"  And  did  not  you  think,"  asked  Sam,  "  that 
part  of  it  was  good  where  he  spoke  of  men  beat- 
ing horses  and  swearing  at  the  same  time — call* 
ing  on  God,  as  it  were,  to  witness  their  abuse  of 
his  creatures  1  I  guess,  if  they  only  stopped  to 
think  a  minute,  they  would  not  do  so." 

"  There  is  great  use,"  replied  William,  "  as  Aunt 
Lottie  always  says,  in  thinking  beforehand,  and 
beginning  right.  Now,  would  it  not  be  a  good 
plan  for  us  to  draw  up  a  paper,  and  sign  it,  re- 
solving always  to  be  kind  and  thoughtful  for  ani- 
mals ?"  The  boys  readily  agreed  to  the  proposi- 
tion. They  retired  to  the  writing-table.  William 
wrote  the  resolution.  They  all  signed  it,  and  left 
it  in  his  safe  keeping ;  and  many  a  dumb  creature 
has  since  profited  by  it. 

Little  Ruth  Aikin  had  drawn  her  stool  clofse  to 
Mr.  Barlow,  and  was  picking  out  nuts  for  him, 
while  Juliet  was  paring  his  apple. 

"  That  was  a  funny  story  you  told,  sir,"  said 
K 


110  THE    POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

Ruth,  "  about  a  cow  being  mother  to  a  baby,  out 
in  the  new  country ;  did  she  really  lie  down  for 
the  poor  little  thing  to  suckle  her,  and  low  when 
she  was  creeping  towards  her  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  Anne,"  answered  Juliet,  anticipating 
Mr.  Barlow's  reply ;  "  and  don't  you  remember  how 
she  licked  over  the  baby's  head  and  face,  just  as 
she  would  have  done  her  calf's  1  I  think  such  a 
mother  is  the  best  if  you  lose  your  real  one." 
"  Why,  Juliet,  how  funny  !" 
"  You  would  not  think  I  felt  funny,"  whispered 
Juliet  to  Ruth,  with  the  confidence  natural  to  child- 
hood, "  if  you  knew  I  had  not  eaten  any  thing  to- 
day but  a  bunch  of  raisins,  and  they  tasted  hor- 
ribly." 

"  Raisins  taste  horribly — that  can't  be,"  replied 
Ruth,  who  had  not  tasted  them  above  twice  in  her 
life. 

"  They  did — and  so  does  cake  very  often  to  me, 
when  we  have  not  any  thing  else.     Mother,  as  I 
call  her,  sometimes  sleeps  all  day,  and  she  forgets 
we  have  not  any  thing  to  eat." 
"  Do  eat  some  biscuits,  Juliet." 
"  I  can't — I  am  not  hungry  ;  I  hardly  ever  am 
hungry  now-a-days." 

"  How  strange,  when  you  have  raisins  and  cake, 
and  I  don't  get  any  thing  but  a  bit  of  dry  bread  for 
supper ;  but  I'm  so  hungry  it  always  tastes  good." 
Poor  Juliet,  while  little  Ruth  was  plump  and 
rosy  on  her  dry  bread,  was  suffering  the  cruel  ef- 
fects of  irregular  and  improper  food. 

Not  one  of  the  company  enjoyed  the  sociable 
more  than  Uncle  Phil  ;  to  be  sure,  he  took  a  long 
sound  nap  during  Mr.  Barlow's  lecture  ;  but,  when 


"  SOCIETY  '  AT  THE  POOR  MAN  S  HOUSE.    Ill 

that  was  over,  he  endorsed  every  word  of  it,  aver- 
ring that  horses  and  cows  were  knowing  critters — 
and  remarking  with  delightful  complacency — "  It's 
a  great  privilege  for  the  young  folks  to  meet  togeth- 
er with  them  that's  seen  life,  and  knows  as  much 
as  we  do." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Caleb  Miner,  whose  rugged  fea- 
tures expressed  a  general  discontent,  "  it's  a  kind 
of  a  privilege,  to  be  sure,  and  thanks  to  you,  Aikin, 
for  thinking  of  it ;  a  poor  man,  and  a  poor  man's 
children,  have  but  few  privileges  in  this  life  ;  work, 
work,  and  no  play ;  while  the  rich  have  nothing 
to  do  but  enjoy  themselves." 

"  Enjoy  themselves  if  they  can,  and  work  too," 
replied  Henry  Aikin,  with  a  smile.  "  I  often  drive 
home  at  nightfall  with  a  light  heart,  for  my  work 
is  done,  my  wages  earned  and  paid  ;  and  I  leave 
the  merchants  who  employ  me  standing  over  their 
desks,  their  brows  drawn  up  to  a  knot  with  care 
and  anxiety ;  and  there  they  stay  till  seven,  eight, 
or  nine  o'clock,  looking  over  puzzling  accounts, 
calculating  gains  or  losses,  as  the  case  may  be.  If 
there  are  such  rich  men  as  you  speak  of,  Miner,  they 
are  beyond  my  knowledge.  I  don't  know  that  you 
join  in  it ;  but,  I  must  say,  I  think  there  is  a  useless 
and  senseless  outcry  against  rich  men.  It  comes 
from  the  unobserving,  ignorant,  and  unreflecting. 
We  must  remember  that,  in  our  country,  there  are 
no  fixed  classes  ;  the  poor  family  of  this  generation 
is  the  rich  family  of  the  next ;  and,  more  than  that, 
the  poor  of  to-day  are  the  rich  of  to-morrow,  and 
the  rich  of  to-day  the  poor  of  to-morrow.  The 
prizes  are  open  to  all,  and  they  fall  without  favour. 
Our  ricb  people,  too,  are,  many  of  them,  among  the 


THE    POOR  KICK    MAN,  ETC. 

very  best  persons  in  society.  I  know  some  such 
— there  is  Mr.  Beckwith,  he  has  ten  talents,  and  a 
faithful  steward  is  he  ;  he  and  his  whole  family  are 
an  honour  and  blessing  to  their  country — doing  in 
every  way  all  the  good  they  can.  Such  a  rich  man 
as  Morris  Finley  I  despise,  or  rather  pity,  as  much 
as  you  or  any  man  can ;  but,  pray,  do  not  let  us 
envy  him  his  ricnes — they  are  something  quite  in- 
dependent of  himself ;  and,  can  a  man  be  really 
poorer  than  he  is — a  poor  mind,  a  poor  heart — that 
is  the  poverty  to  shun.  As  to  rich  men  being  at 
their  ea&e,  Miner,  every  new  acquisition  brings  a 
new  want — a  new  responsibility." 

"  But,  Aikin,  Aikin — now,  candidly,  would  you 
not  be  willing  to  take  their  wants  and  responsibili- 
ties with  their  purses  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say,  Miner  ;  money  is  the  represent- 
ative of  power — the  means  of  extended  usefulness  ; 
and  we  all  have  dreams  of  the  wonderful  good  we 
should  do  if  we  had  these  means  in  our  hands. 
But  this  I  do  know,  that,  till  we  are  conscious  of 
employing,  and  employing  well,  the  means  we  have, 
we  ought  not  to  crave  more.  But  let  us  look  at 
the  matter  in  the  right  point  of  view.  We  are  all 
children  of  one  family— all  are  to  live  here  a  few 
years — some  in  one  station,  and  some  in  another. 
We  are  all  of  us,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest, 
labourers  in  our  Father's  field  ;  and  as  we  sow,  so 
shall  we  reap.  If  we  labour  rightly,  those  words 
of  truth  and  immense  import  will  sound  in  our  ears 
like  a  promise,  and  not  like  a  threat.  We  shall 
work  at  our  posts  like  faithful  children,  not  like 
tasked  slaves  ;  and  shall  be  sure  of  the  riches  that 
perish  not  in  the  using.  As  to  all  other  riches,  it 


"  SOCIETY"  AT  THE  POOR  MAN'S  HOUSE.  113 

is  not  worth  our  while  to  covet  or  envy  them  ;  ex- 
cept in  some  rare  cases,  we  have  all,  in  this  coun- 
try, gifts  and  means  enough.  As  to  property,  I  am 
the  poorest  man  of  you  all." 

"Yes,  yes,  Aikin;  but  youVe  every  thing  else 
— what  is  the  little  advantage  we  have  in  property, 
compared  to  your  education,  and  so  forth  ?" 

This  argument  Aikin  could  not  sincerely  gain- 
say ;  but,  anxious  to  impart  some  of  his  sentiments 
to  his  friends,  he  proceeded — 

"  Among  us  working-men,  property  is  a  sign  of 
industry,  ingenuity,  temperance,  and  frugality ; 
therefore,  I  am  anxious  to  make  what  excuse  I  can 
for  being  so  much  poorer  than  the  rest  of  you. 
You  know  I  began  with  a  broken-down  constitu- 
tion, and  have  never  been  able  to  perform  half  the 
labour  of  a  sound  man  ;  but  I  have  taken  care  of 
what  strength  I  had — 1  selected  a  healthy  business 
— I  have  been  strictly  temperate,  not  only  in  drink- 
ing, but  in  eating — and  this,  with  always  a  clean, 
cheerful  home  to  come  to,  has  made  me  a  stouter 
man  at  forty  than  I  was  at  three-and-tvventy.  In 
the  meantime,  I  have  seen  many  a  lawyer  grow- 
ing rich,  and,  just  when  he  has  laid  up  much  goods, 
falling  a  prey  to  disease  contracted  sitting  at  an 
office  table,  performing  labour  that  some  of  us  might 
fancy  no  labour  at  all ;  but  which  is  proved,  by  its 
effects,  to  be  much  harder  than  our  work.  Mer- 
chants, too,  whom  I  remember,  bright  and  blooming, 
have  gone  on  laying  up  their  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands — going  from  fagging  in  their  counting- 
houses  to  feasting  like  kings  ;  and,  at  forty-five  or 
fifty,  look  at  them — they  have  houses,  and  lands, 
and  coaches,  to  be  sure,  but  do  they  enjoy  them? 
K2 


114  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

There  is  John  Marlow,  of  the  house  of  Marlow, 
Minter,  &  Co. — why,  he  would  give  half  his  foi> 
tune  to  be  able  to  eat  those  nuts  you  are  eating, 
Miner,  and  go  to  bed  and  sleep  as  you  will  after 
them.  Look  at  Morris  Finley — his  face  looks  to 
me  like  an  account-book,  written  over  with  dollars 
and  cents,  as  if  he  had  coined  his  soul  into  them. 
And  there  is  Robson,  of  the  house  of  Robson  &  Co. 
— I  remembe-r  his  hair  as  black,  glossy,  and  thick 
as  your  John's,  and  his  colour  as  pure  red  and 
white  ;  now,  he  has  a  scratch  on  the  top  of  his 
head — his  eyes  buried  in  unwholesome  fat — his 
skin  mottled,  and  he  lives  between  his  counting- 
house  and  Broadway,  in  continual  dread  of  an  ap- 
oplexy. How  juany  Pearl-street  merchants  over 
five-and-thirty  are  dyspeptics  ?" 

"  But,  mercy  on  us,  Aikin!  you  don't  suppose 
money  is  infected  with  dyspepsy  ?" 

"  No ;  but  I  do  suppose  that  those  who  make  it 
an  end,  and  not  a  means,  pay  the  penalty  of  their 
folly.  I  do  suppose  that  the  labour  and  anxiety  of 
mind  attending  the  accumulation  and  care  of  it, 
and  the  animal  indulgences  it  procures,  are  a  very 
common  means  of  destroying  the  health.  Now, 
Miner,  have  we  not  a  greater  chance  for  health, 
which  we  all  allow  to  be  the  first  of  earthly  bles- 
sings, than  the  rich?  Then,  we  have  some  ad- 
vantages for  the  education  of  our  children  which 
they  cannot  get.  You  may  say,  necessity  is  a 
rough  schoolmaster,  but  his  lessons  are  best  taught. 
The  rich  cannot  buy  books,  or  hire  masters,  that 
will  teach  their  children  as  thoroughly  as  ours  are 
taught  by  circumstances,  industry,  ingenuity,  fru- 
gality, and  self-denial.  Besides,  are  not  our  little 


"SOCIETY'*  AT  THE  POOR  MAN'S  HOUSE.  115 

flocks  mutual  assistance  and  mutual  kindness  so- 
cieties r 

"  They  are,  that's  true — they  are  ;  and  though. 
I  must  own  mine  ain't  brought  up  like  yours,  and 
they  do  have  their  little  sprees  and  flashes,  yet 
they  are  open-handed  to  one  another,  and  take 
part  with  one  another  in  their  pleasures,  and  troub- 
les, and  battles,  and  so  on.  But  go  on,  Aikin ;  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  growing  richer  every  sentence 
you  utter." 

Before  Aikin  could  proceed,  a  hand-bell  rung 
loudly  and  impatiently,  the  well-known  signal  for 
poor  little  Juliet.  The  children  gathered  around 
her  to  express  their  unwillingness  to  part  with  her, 
and  William  Aikin,  in  his  eagerness,  stumbled 
over  Miner's  foot,  which  was  in  rather  an  obtru- 
sive position.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Miner,  I  beg  your  par- 
don," said  the  little  fellow. 

"  There,  now,"  said  Miner, "  that  puts  me  in  mind 
of  what  I  am  often  grumbling  at ;  your  children 
are  an  exception ;  but  how,  in  the  name  of  nature, 
are  our  children  to  learn  manners  in  our  rough  and 
tumble  way  of  living  ?  Can  you  figure  that  out  ?" 

"  Why,  Miner,  manners,  for  the  most  part,  are 
only  the  signs  of  qualities.  If  a  child  has  a  kind 
and  gentle  disposition,  he  will  have  the  out- 
ward sign  ;  if  he  have  the  principle  that  teach- 
es him  to  maintain  his  own  rights,  and  not  en- 
croach on  those  of  others,  he  will  have  dignity 
and  deference,  which  I  take  to  be  qualities  of  the 
best  manners.  As  to  forms  of  expression,  such  as 
my  boy  used  when  he  stumbled  over  your  foot, 
they  are  easily  taught :  this  I  call  women's  work. 
They  are  naturally  more  mannerly  than  we. 


116  THE   POOR   RICH   MAN,  ETC. 

There  are,  to  be  sure,  certain  forms  that  are  in  use 
by  what  are  called  the  '  polite  world'  that  we  can 
know  nothing  of;  but  they  are  not  essential  to  the 
spirit  of  good  manners.  Ours,  I  believe,  is  the  only 
country  where  those  who  compose  the  lower 
classes  have  the  power  and  the  means  of  good 
manners ;  for  here  there  is  no  sense  of  degrada- 
tion from  the  necessity  of  labour.  Here,  if  we 
will,  the  poorest  of  us  can  get  education  enough 
for  our  children  to  make  them  feel  the  dignity  of 
their  nature  arid  destiny,  and  to  make  them  realize 
the  real  equality  of  rights  on  which  the  institutions 
of  the  country  are  based.  Self-respect  is  the  real 
basis  of  good  manners.  It  makes  my  blood  boil  to 
see  the  manners  of  the  low-born  who  come  here 
from  the  old  countries — their  servility,  their  mean- 
ness, their  crouching  to  their  superiors  when  they 
expect  a  favour,  and  their  impertinence,  and  dis- 
obligingness, and  downright  insolence,  when  the 
power  is  in  their  own  hands.  They  are  like  horses 
used  to  being  guided  and  driven,  and  know  no 
more  than  they  would  how,  without  harness,  reins, 
and  blinders,  to  do  their  duty."* 

*  While  writing  this  page,  a  circumstance  has  come  to  my 
knowledge  that,  illustrates  my  theory  of  the  effect  of  condition 
upon  manners.  Our  streets,  since  the  last  snow-storm,  even 
the  side-walks,  are  almost  impassable  with  masses  of  snow  and 
ice.  M.,  a  distinguished  exile,  and  his  wife,  who  earn  an  hon- 
ourable living  by  imparting  the  accomplishments  of  their  more 
fortunate  days,  were  returning  from  their  lessons.  The  hack- 
ney-coach had  disappointed  them.  M.,  deprived  of  one  leg, 
found  it  impossible  to  use  his  crutches  on  the  ice.  They  stopped 
at  the  corner  of  a  street.  The  packed  omnibuses  passed  them. 
Private  sleighs,  from  which,  as  they  drew  up  to  turn  the  corner, 
they  heard  expressions  of  compassion,  also,  like  the  Levite, 
passed  on.  Two  labouring  men  offered  their  aid :  one  carried 
M  's  crutches,  the  other  all  but  carried  him  to  his  own  door 


"SOCIETY"  AT  THE  POOR  MAN'S  HOUSE.  117 

"  You  say,  Harry,"  interposed  Mrs.  Aikin,  "  that 
it  is  women's  work  to  teach  manners  to  the  chil- 
dren; but,  don't  you  think  they  learn  them  mostly 
from  example  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  do ;  manners,  as  well  as  every 
thing  else.  Man  is  called  an  imitative  animal 
You  can  tell  by  the  actions  of  a  child  a  year  old 
what  sort  of  people  it  has  lived  with.  If  parents 
are  civil  and  kind  to  one  another, — if  children 
never  hear  from  them  profane  or  coarse  language, 
they  will  as  naturally  grow  up  well-behaved  as  that 
candle  took  the  form  of  the  mould  it  was  run  in." 

"  But,"  said  Miner,  who  was  willing  to  shift  off 
the  consequences  of  some  of  his  short-comings  up- 
on inevitable  chances,  "  suppose  you  do  set  a  bright 
example  at  home,  you  can't  shut  your  children  up 
there — they've  got  to  go  out,  and  go  to  school,  and 
hear  and  see  every  thing  under  the  sun." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Miner,"  replied  Susan  Aikin,  "  but 
it's  surprising,  if  they  are  taken  care  of  at  home, 
how  little  any  thing  out  of  doors  seems  to  harm 
them." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Miner,"  said  Uncle  Phil,  glad 
of  an  opportunity  to  cut  in,  "  what  our  folks  call 
taking  care  is  a  pretty  considerable  chore, — it's 
doing  a  little  here,  and  doing  a  little  there,  and  al- 
ways doing." 

"  Wife  !"  called  out  Miner  to  his  helpmate,  who 
had  just  given  her  child  a  cuff  for  treading  on  her 
toe, — "  wife,  I  depend  on  your  remembering  all 

when  they  both  respectfully  took  their  leave,  declining  the 
compensation  (a  most  liberal  one)  which  M.  offered,  accustomed 
to  countries  where  the  services  of  the  poor  have  always  their 
money  value. 


118  THE    POOR    RICH   MAN,   ETC. 

this  :  you  know  TV  e  a  dreadful  poor  memory;  and 
I  want  you  to  tell  it  over  to  the  children." 

Poor  Miner,  in  spite  of  all  Henry  Aikin's  hints, 
continued  in  the  common  error  of  expecting  to 
effect  that  by  precept  which  is  the  work  of  exam- 
ple, patiently  repeated,  day  after  day,  and  year 
after  year. 

The  conversation  then  took  a  more  miscellane- 
ous turn.  The  women  talked  over  their  domestic 
affairs,  and  the  men  ran  upon  politics,  showing 
themselves  sufficiently  enlightened,  and  as  disin- 
terested as  we  wish  all  politicians  were.  At  half 
past  nine  they  separated,  cheerful,  and,  we  trust, 
profited  ;  and,  as  they  heard  the  carriages  rum- 
bling along  the  streets  that  were  then  conveying 
the  earliest  of  our  fashionables  to  their  crowded 
parties,  we  think  our  humble  friends  had  no  reason 
to  contrast  their  social  pleasures  unfavourably  with 
those  of  the  rich,  but  that  they  might  feel  that 
their  meeting  together,  as  Uncle  Phil  said.  "  in  this 
neighbourly  way,  was  a  privilege.'. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  SOCIETY"  AT  THE  RICH  MAN'S  HOME. 

"  The  labour  of  the  foolish  wearieth  every  one  of  them." 

WE  change  the  scene  to  a  fine  new  house,  in  a 
fashionable  quarter  of  the  city:  Mrs  Finley  alights 
from  her  own  carriage,  and  meets  her  daughter  at 
the  door,  her  face  full  of  something  she  had  to 


119 

communicate.  "  Oh,  mamma,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  who  was  that  that  came  into  Morrison's  thread 
and  needle  store  just  as  you  passed  ? — a  lady  with 
an  ermine  boa, — you  bowed  to  her." 
"  Mrs.  Kingson.  Why,  Sabina  Jane  ?" 
"  The  lady  that  was  with  her  asked  her,  when 
they  got  into  the  shop,  who  she  bowed  to  ?  She 
said,  '  That  Mrs.  Finley  that  left  her  card  at  my 
house  !' — '  Does  she  keep  a  carriage  V  asked  the 
other  lady ;  and  then  she  took  up  her  eye-glass- 
and  looked  after  you,  and  said,  so  everybody  might 
have  heard  her  in  the  shop,  i  Liveries  !  and  a  coat 
of  arms ! — no  wonder  we  are  a  laughing-stock  to 
foreigners.'  " 

"  Well,"  answered  the  perturbed  and  perplexed 
mother, "  I  do  wonder  what  is  the  harm  of  liveries  ? 
It  is  next  to  impossible  to  find  a  servant  that  is 
willing  to  wear  them ;  that's  a  proof  they  are  gen- 
teel ;  and  then,  as  to  the  coat  of  arms,  I  am  sure 
the  man  that  made  the  harness  said  it  was  the 
latest  pattern  he  had  in  his  shop.  That  coach," 
she  continued,  "  has  been  nothing  but  a  plague  to 
me.  Your  father  is  always  fretting  about  the  ex- 
pense, and  complaining  that  the  coachman  cheats 
him ;  and  John  will  do  *  nothing  but  drive  the 
horses ;  and  everybody  that  has  a  coachman  in 
livery  has  a  footman,  and  your  father  thinks  the 
waiter  can  turn  into  a  footman  when  I  want  one, 
but  he  don't  know  how  inconvenient  that  is.  No- 
body knows,  but  them  that  has  them,  the  trials  of 
keeping  a  carriage."* 

*  One  of  these  incidental  trials  was  met  by  a  ready  ingenui 
ty  that  deserves  a  more  enduring  preservation  than  we  can 
give  it.  A  gentleman  told  his  coachman  to  bring  him  a  pitcher 
of  fresh  water  from  the  pump.  "  I  can't,  sir."—**  Why  not  2"— 


120  THE    POOR    RICH   MAN,    ETC. 

"  Then,  mamma,  why  do  you  keep  one  ?" 
"  Don't  ask  such  silly  questions,  Sabina  Jane." 
A  servant  entered.  "  Mrs.  Finley,  here  are  the 
notes  that  have  come  in  since  you  went  out."  Mrs. 
Finley  took  them  eagerly.  She  had  sent  out  in- 
vitations for  a  party,  and  she  was  anxious  to  know 
who  had  accepted  and  who  refused.  The  first  she 
opened  was  from  the  teacher  of  her  only  son  Ar- 
thur William,  informing  her  that  Master  Arthur  was 
behind-hand  in  all  his  studies,  and  that,  unless  his 
lessons  were  superintended  at  home,  he  feared  he 
must  dismiss  the  boy,  as  the  reputation  of  his 
school  depended  on  the  progress  of  his  scholars. 

"  This  is  too  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Finley ;  "  I  won- 
der what  we  pay  him  for  but  to  teach  ?  Mr.  Bel- 
tarn  always  said  Arthur  was  a  prodigy  when  he 
went  to  his  school." 

"  But,  mamma,  you  said  Arthur  could  not  read 
when  he  had  been  to  Mr.  Beltam's  two  years." 

"  What's  that  to  the  purpose,  miss  ?  Mr.  Bel- 
tarn  never  sent  in  any  complaints.  I  will  not 
make  myself  a  slave  to  looking  after  your  lessons 
at  home  ;  I  have  not  health  for  it :  besides,  your 
father  and  I  never  studied  Latin,  and  French,  and 
philosophy,  and  them  things." 

"  I  wonder  what  you  did  study,  mother  ?" 
"  For  shame,   Sabina  Jane !    I  am   sure  your 
father  understands  every  kind  of  arithmetic." 

"  Does  he,  mother  ?  I  did  not  know  he  under- 
stood any  thing." 

"  'Tis  not  my  business." — "  What  the  deuse  is  your  business  ?" — 
"  Taking  care  of  the  carriage,  sir." — "  Bring  up  the  carriage, 
then."  The  carriage  came :  "  John"  (to  the  waiter),  "  get  into 
the  carriage,  and  bring  me  a  pitcher  of  fresh  water  from  the 
pump." 


"  SOCIETY"  AT  THE  RICH  MAN'S  HOUSE.  121 

It  was  difficult  to  decide  whether  this  was  said 
with  simplicity  or  impertinence.  Unfortunate,  in- 
deed, are  those  children  who,  with  their  acquisi- 
tions, acquire  a  contempt  for  their  parents'  igno- 
rance. The  next  note  opened  was  a  polite  notice 

to  Mrs.  Finley,  from  Mademoiselle  A ,  that  a 

box  of  newly-arrived  Parisian  millinery  would  be 
opened  for  her  patrons'  inspection  the  next  morn- 
ing. "  Very  attentive  in  Mademoiselle !"  said 
Mrs.  Finley,  when  unfortunately  the  pleasure  of 
being  a  patron  was  checked  by  one  of  the  usual 
penalties  for  such  distinctions.  A  bill  had  dropped 
from  within  the  note,  which  the  little  girl  handed 
to  her  mother,  reading  the  amount,  $57  45.  "How 
very  provoking !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Finley ;  "  she 
might  better  have  sent  it  at  any  other  time :  your 
father  frets  so  about  the  expenses  for  the  party. 
I  am  sure  they  are  necessary;  but  1  can't  ask  him 
for  the  money  to  pay  Mademoiselle  now,  that's 
certain ;  so,  throw  the  bill  in  the  fire,  Sabina  Jane  ; 
and,  when  Mademoiselle  sends  for  the  money,  I 
tan  say  I  haven't  got  the  bill." 

"  Yes,  mamma,  and  you  can  say  it  must  have 
dropped  out ;  it  did  drop,  you  know." 

"  That's  well  thought  of,  Sabina  Jane,  and  no 
lie  either."  Thus  did  this  poor  child  receive  from 
her  weak  mother  a  lesson  in  fraud,  lying,  and  hy- 
pocrisy. Mrs.  Finley  proceeded  in  the  examina- 
tion of  her  notes.  "  '  Mrs.  Dilhurst  accepts,'  &c. 
Oh,  I  knew  she  would  accept ;  I  wonder  when 
she  ever  refused  1  '  Mrs.  Kingson  regrets  an  en- 
gagement,' <fec.  What  a  shame  it  is  for  people 
to  lie  so !  She  cannot  have  an  engagement  a  fort- 
night ahead!"  We  have  not  space  to  give  the 
L 


122  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

various  returns  Mrs.  Finley  then  read  and  re- 
ceived in  the  course  of  the  day.  She  had  made 
a  great  effort  to  assemble  a  party  of  fashionable 
people :  she  had,  to  use  the  current  word,  cut 
those  of  her  acquaintance  that  might  be  suspected 
of  vulgarity ;  and  she  had  left  her  cards  at  the 
houses  of  those  who  had  been  all  their  lives,  and 
their  parents  before  them,  in  the  best  society. 
She  was  sure  Mrs.  Kingson,  at  whose  request  she 
had  repeatedly  subscribed  to  societies,  would  ac- 
cept ;  and,  if  Mrs.  Kingson  accepted,  the  Misses 

would,  and  then  the  Raron  de would, 

and  then  the  success  of  her  party  was  secured. 
Presuming  upon  all  this,  no  expense  had  been 
spared  :  the  Kendall  band  had  been  engaged  ;  and 
the  party  was  to  be  as  brilliant  as  music,  lights, 
china,  glass,  and  the  luxuries  of  the  season  could 
make  it.  Finley,  whose  vanity  was  his  next 
strongest  passion  to  his  cupidity,  had  been  lavish 
of  his  money.  Every  thing  his  wife  asked  for  he 
had  granted,  with  one  single  reservation  :  he  had 
stood  at  bay  at  a  pate  de  foie  gras,*  which  his 
wife  maintained  to  be  essential.  "  What,  thirty 
dollars,"  he  said,  "  for  what  was  nothing,  after  all, 
but  a  pie  of  geese's  livers ! — no,  he  could  not  go 
that !"  and  Mrs.  Morris  Finley,  more  prudent  than 
some  wives,  never  urged  when  morally  certain  of 
urging  in  vain. 

*  As  we  hope  to  have  readers  who  never  heard  of  a  pott  de 
foie  gras,  we  inform  them  that  it  is  an  eatable  not  very  rare  at 
evening  parties.  It  is  a  pie  imported  from  France,  and  cost- 
ing, if  we  are  correctly  informed,  from  twenty  to  fifty  dollars. 
An  unnatural  enlargement  of  the  liver  of  geese  is  produced  by 
confining  the  bird,  and  subjecting  it  to  artificial  heat.  We  hard- 
ly know  which  most  to  admire, — the  mercy  of  the  ingenious  gas- 
tronomist who  devised  this  luxury,  or  the  taste  of  its  consumers 


"  SOCIETY"  AT  THE  RICH  MAN'S  HOUSE.     123 

Poor  Mrs.  Finley,  with  every  luxury  that  money 
could  buy,  felt  deeply  mortified  at  the  absence  of 
that  which  money  could  not  buy.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain aristocracy  in  our  city  that  is  most  carefully 
guarded.  It  is  said  that  the  barriers  here  may  be 
as  easily  passed  as  the  fences  that  enclose  our 
fields,  so  mildly  contrasting  with  the  thorny  hedges 
of  the  aristocracy  of  the  parent  land.  But  it  is 
not  so.  All  that  we  would  ask  is,  that  the  terms 
of  admission  might  be  settled  on  the  right  ground.  t 
However,  we  leave  this  to  be  arranged  by  the  par- 
ties concerned,  and  proceed  to  the  facts  in  the 
case  of  Mrs.  Morris  Finley.  Her  husband  cared 
nothing  about  the  matter  ;  but  that  it  should  appear 
Morris  Finley  was  among  the  first — good  society 
(so  called),  he  looked  upon  as  a  part  of  his  mon- 
ey's worth — a  fair  return  for  his  expenditure,  and 
therefore  he  had  his  full  part  in  his  wife's  mortifi- 
cation, when,  after  ^11  her  pushing,  her  arts  and 
trucklings,  her  shirking  this  old  acquaintance  and 
cutting  that  relation,  their  empty  places  were  not 
filled  by  bright  names  in  the  fashionable  world. 

Two  or  three,  stars  wandered  from  their  sphere 
into  Mrs.  Finley's  orbit ;  some  from  motives  ari- 
sing from  a  business-relation  with  Finley,  and 
others  from  good-nature  peculiar  to  the  individu- 
als. But  these  few  lights  only  served  to  show  the 
general  darkness.  Such  vain  ambition  as  the  Fin- 
leys'  might  be  cured,  if  comments  like  the  follow- 
ing were  overheard. 

"  Mrs.  Kingson,  do  you  mean  to  accept  Mrs. 
Finley's  invitation  1" 

"  No,  my  dear." 

"  Why,  aunt  ?  they  say  it  is  to  be  something 
quite  superb." 


124  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

"  So  much  the  worse.  Did  she  not  let  her  poor 
mother  toil  away  her  life  in  a  second-rate  board- 
ing-house 1  and  she  will  not  employ  her  worthy 
cousins  who  sew  for  me,  because  they  are  her 
cousins.  No,  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  such 
people  as  the  Finleys." 

"  Mamma,  do  you  mean  to  go  to  the  Finleys'  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  ;  it  was  too  impertinent  of  the 
woman  to  ask  me.  I  never  saw  her  except  at 
Saratoga." 

"  Mrs.  Smith,  are  you  going  to  the  Finleys'  ?" 

"  No  ;  they  are  too  ignorant  and  vulgar." 

"  But  you  visit  the  Fitzroys  ?" 

"  My  dear,  you  forget ;  Fitzroy  is  a  junior  part- 
ner of  Mr.  Smith." 

"  Oh,  is  he  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Brown,  do  you  go  to  the  Finleys' T 

"  No,  I  will  not,  when  I  can  help  it,  visit  the 
merely  rich." 

These  reasons,  and  a  hundred  similar,  were  of 
course  not  alleged  to  Mrs.  Finley,  but  veiled  in 
the  conventional  "  regrets,"  "  previous  engage- 
ments," &c.  &c.  So  Mrs.  Morris  Finley  gave 
her  party  to  those  for  whom  she  did  not  think  it 
worth  the  trouble  ;  nor  did  her  husband  deem  it 
worth  the  expense.  The  house  was  turned  topsy- 
turvy, the  servants  overworked,  the  children  made 
ill  by  surfeiting,  and  no  one  happy  or  grateful ; 
the  invited  regarded  Mrs.  Finley  with  contempt, 
and  the  left  out  with  resentment. 

Which,  we  would  ask,  was  the  richest  man,  es- 
timated by  the  hospitality  exercised  and  enjoyed, — 
Henry  Aikin,  or  Morris  Finley  ? 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  NOT  "FORGOT."    125 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AN    OLD   ACQUAINTANCE    NOT    "  FORGOT." 

FEW  things  are  more  gratifying  to  a  benevolent 
person  than  to  know  that  a  charity  has  proved  ef- 
fective ;  and  to  the  Aikins,to  whom  charities  were 
luxuries  which  their  straitened  circumstances  for- 
bade them  often  to  indulge  in,  it  was  a  happiness 
hardly  to  be  estimated  by  those  who  have  it  in 
their  power  to  give  away  every  day.  Little  Juliet 
had  appeared  from  the  first  a  gentle-tempered,  lov- 
ing, and  interesting  child  ;  but  nothing  could  be 
more  desultory  than  her  habits,  nor  more  discour- 
aging than  her  condition.  She  had,  as  she  said, 
been  taught  to  read  by  her  real  mother  ;  but,  in  her 
present  protectress's  various  removings,  her  books 
had  been  lost,  and  her  little  learning  forgotten,  so 
that  she  could  not  form  a  letter,  and  she  even  read 
stumblingly. 

She  was,  at  first,  a  constant  hinderance  to  the 
little  Aikins,  and  a  constant  trial  of  their  mother's 
inexhaustible  patience.  Her  ear  was  caught  by 
every  passing  sound  in  the  street,  and  her  eye  by 
every  occurrence  in  the  apartment.  But  she  was 
most  grateful  for  the  kindness  extended  to  her,  and 
most  desirous  to  profit  by  it.  Habits  in  children 
are,  like  young  plants,  of  rapid  growth,  and  in  a 
few  weeks  Juliet's  character  underwent  a  transfor- 
L2 


126  THE   POOR   RICH   MAN,   ETC. 

mation  similar  to  that  of  her  dress,  where  substan- 
tial, neat,  warm,  and  lasting  garments  had  been 
substituted  for  dirty  finery. 

Mrs.  Aikin  was  not  one  of  those  selfish  parents 
who  make  it  a  sort  of  duty  to  cast  aside  what- 
ever can  possibly  interfere  with  the  advancement 
of  their  own  offspring.  She  was  willing  to  take 
something  from  their  abundant  portion  to  give  to 
this  little  orphan  in  the  human  family.  She  some- 
times feared  Juliet  might  exhaust  Mr.  Barlow's 
patience ;  but  he  seemed  rather  to  pity  her  igno- 
rance and  carelessness  than  to  be  irritated  by 
them.  He  was  drawn  to  her  by  some  resem- 
blance in  their  fate.  Both  seemed  dropped  links 
from  the  chain  of  humanity  ;  both  to  have  been 
the  objects  of  the  intervention  of  Providence,  and 
both  to  have  been  cast  upon  the  same  charity. 
In  speaking  of  Juliet  to  Mrs.  Aikin,  Mr.  Barlow 
adverted  to  the  reasons  for  the  interest  he  felt  in 
the  child  ;  and  "  yet,"  he  said,  "  this  is  not  all ;  her 
look,  when  she  suddenly  turns  her  eye,  or  that  im- 
ploring expression  when  she  fears  she  has  dis- 
pleased me,  put  me  so  in  mind  of  one  that's  gone  : 
her  voice,  too,  when  she  speaks  low,  Mistress 
Aikin,  it  makes  my  heart  throb,  and  the  perspira- 
tion stand  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand." 

"  You  have  not  gained  your  strength  yet,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Aikin,  "  and  a  little  matter  affects  you." 

"  It  is  not  a  little  matter,  my  good  friend  ;  I  have 
thought  there  was  a  possibility — but  that  is  foolish, 
and  I  will  not  talk  about  it.  It  will  cost  me  much 
to  part  from  her,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  you ;  but 
now  there  is  no  reason  I  should  encumber  you  any 
longer,  for  the  old  rule  does  not  always  hold  good 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  NOT  "  FORGOT."    127 

— *  where  there's  room  in  the  heart  there's  room  in 
the  house.' " 

We  have  omitted  to  mention,  that  Aikin  had  ob- 
tained the  place  of  assistant  teacher  in  a  classical 
school  for  Mr.  Barlow. 

"  I  know,  sir,"  replied  Susan,  "  that  you  can 
now  get  much  more  comfort  elsewhere  than  we 
can  give  you ;  but  a  grief  and  loss  it  will  be  to  us 
to  part  with  you.  I  have  been  looking  forward  to 
your  taking  the  little  back  room,  for  Juliet  told  me 
to-day — and,  poor  child,  she  was  crying  when  she 
said  it — that  her  mother  was  about  to  move." 

"  Juliet  going  too  ?"  exclaimed  the  children, 
"  that  is  too  bad." 

A  bustling  step  in  the  entry  was  heard,  and  im- 
mediately after  an  imperative  voice  at  Mrs.  Smith's 
door,  calling  out — "  Open  the  door — I  say  I  must 
speak  with  you."  The  door  opened,  and  Juliet's 
voice  was  heard  in  reply,  but  so  low  that  not 
a  word  could  be  distinguished.  The  response 
was  sufficiently  audible — "  Don't  cry,  child — I'm 
not  going  to  hurt  you,  but  I  must  speak  with  your 
mother.  The  house  is  not  mine,"  continued  the 
stranger,  now  evidently  addressing  Mrs.  Smith  ; 
"  and  I  have  no  authority  to  grant  indulgences. 
You  are  behind-hand  for  the  last  three  weeks,  and 
if  you  don't  pay  Saturday,  you  must  clear  out — 
good  day,  ma'am." 

An  opportunity  was  now  offered,  as  the  landlord's 
agent  repassed  the  door,  to  speak  for  the  room  for 
Mr.  Barlow ;  but  he  and  all  the  rest  were  absorb- 
ed in  their  interest  for  little  Juliet,  whose  soft  foot- 
steps were  soon  heard  on  the  stairs.  Anne  sprang 
to  the  door,  and  opening  it,  asked  Juliet  to  come  in. 


128  THE   POOR   RICH   MAN,  ETC* 

"  She  will  not,"  said  Anne,  as  Juliet  went  out  at 
the  street  door  ;  "  she  blushed  as  red  as  fire,  and 
seemed  to  have  something  under  her  cloak — what 
can  it  mean  ?" 

Mrs.  Aikin  guessed  what  it  meant ;  for,  more 
than  once,  she  had  observed  Juliet  going  out  on 
secret  expeditions  ;  and  once,  when  she  had  look- 
ed her  full  hi  the  face,  the  poor  child's  downcast 
eye  and  burning  cheek  betrayed  her  secret  to  Mrs. 
Aikin.  Truth  is  stamped  with  innocence  on  the 
soul ;  there  they  blend,  or  are  effaced  together. 
Now,  Mrs.  Aikin  thought,  she  must  no  longer 
scruple  to  interfere ;  and,  when  Juliet  returned,  she 
went  into  the  entry,  and  closing  the  door  after  her, 
jsaid — 

"  What  have  you  there,  Juliet  ?" 

"  She  told  me  not  to  tell,  ma'am." 

"  You  need  not,  my  child,  I  know  what  it  is." 
The  fumes  of  the  gin  had  already  betrayed  the  se- 
cret. "  Does  she  take  this  stuff  every  day,  Juliet  ?" 

"  No,  Mrs.  Aikin,  not  now,  since  she  has  such  a 
fever  and  cough— she  only  takes  it  when  she  feels 
awfully.  My  own  mother  never  took  it,  though  she 
had  dreadful  feelings,  too." 

While  Juliet  spoke,  she  seemed  in  a  flutter  of 
impatience  and  timidity — all  eye  and  ear — as  if 
expecting  a  summons  ;  or,  what  was  still  worse, 
fearing  a  suspicion  of  betraying  the  miserable 
woman's  secret.  In  the  meantime,  Susan  Aikin 
was  considering  what  she  had  best  do.  That  Mrs. 
Smith's  disease  must  be  aggravated,  and  her  death 
hastened,  by  the  means  she  took  for  present  relief, 
was  certain ;  and  Susan  was  not  of  a  temper  to 
fold  her  hands  and  say — "  It  is  no  business  of  mine" 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  NOT  "FORGOT."    129 

— when  she  could  help  a  fellow- creature,  it  was 
her  business. 

"  Leave  the  mug  here,  Juliet,"  she  said,  "  and 
tell  your  mother  I  wish  to  speak  with  her." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  not,  Mrs.  Aikin — she'll  be  so  angry 
with  me ;  she  does  not  mind  speaking  with  other 
people,  but  she  seems  to  hate  to  see  any  of  your 
family.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  the  reason  is 
— there — I  hear  her — pray  let  me  go  !"  and  Juliet 
seized  the  mug,  which  Mrs.  Aikin  had  set  on  the 
stair,  and  disappeared. 

In  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Aikin  followed  her  and 
tapped  at  the  door  ;  Juliet  opened  it,  and  stood 
aghast,  while  Mrs.  Aikin  said — "  Mrs.  Smith,  I 
know  you  are  sick,  and  in  trouble — let  me  come 
in,  and  see  if  something  cannot  be  done  for  you." 

The  door,  evidently  at  a  sign  from  within,  was 
closed  in  Mrs.  Aikin's  face  ;  but,  through  the  crev- 
ices, Mrs.  Aikin  heard  a  voice  that  seemed  familiar 
to  her,  half  scolding  and  half  crying. 

She  again  tapped  at  the  door,  and  Juliet  opened 
it  a  crack,  and  said,  in  a  voice  whose  tremulous  soft- 
ness contrasted  with  the  rudeness  of  her  words — 

"  She  says,  ma'am,  she  won't  be  bothered." 

"  Well,  Juliet,  I'll  go  away  now,  She  may  feel 
differently  by-and-by."  * 

Mrs.  Aikin's  persevering  kindness  and  forbear- 
ance touched  the  heart  of  the  miserable  woman  ; 
but  the  fumes  of  the  liquor  were  mounting  to  her 
brain,  and  she  drew  the  bed-clothes  over  her  head 
and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  from  which  she  was 
awakened  late  in  the  evening  by  the  stealthy  en- 
trance of  a  man,  who  brought  her  a  note  from  her 
nominal  husband.  This  threw  her  into  violent 


130  THE    POOR   RICH   MAN,    ETC. 

hysterics,  during  which  the  man  disappeared  ;  anet 
Juliet,  who,  wearied  and  hungry,  had  fallen  asleep 
across  the  foot  of  the  bed,  awakened.  She  was 
terrified  by  Mrs.  Smith's  apparent  unconsciousness 
and  convulsive  sobs,  and  she,  obeying  her  first 
impulse,  ran  down  to  the  Aikins.  Harry  and  his 
wife,  without  any  false  scruples,  went  to  Mrs. 
Smith's  apartment,  bidding  Juliet  to  remain  with 
Aunt  Lottie.  They  found  Mrs.  Smith  in  hysterics, 
partly  the  effect  of  the  gin,  and  partly  of  a  sudden 
distress  which  had  been  communicated  to  her  by 
the  open  letter  she  held  in  her  clinched  hand.  A 
filthy  lace  cap  stuck  on  the  side  of  her  head  ;  her 
hair  hung  over  her  face  ;  a  tattered  French  cape 
and  a  soiled  silk  gown  served  to  make  more  dis- 
gusting, but  not  to  hide,  the  rags  and  dirt  beneath 
them. 

Our  friends  had  scarcely  seen  the  woman  when 
they  exchanged  significant  glances,  for  they  both 
recognised  in  the  wretched  person  before  them, 
in  spite  of  the  dropsical  cheeks,  bloodshot  eyes,  and 
sharpened  features,  the  playmate  of  their  child- 
hood— the  beauty  of  their  youthful  days,  Paulina 
Clark !  Grieved  and  shocked  were  they :  but  they 
thought  only  of  administering  aid  ;  and  this  being 
most  judiciously  done,  Paulina  soon  after  opened 
her  eyes,  and,  recognising  her  old  acquaintances, 
a  new  burst  of  emotion  and  a  violent  shrieking 
ensued. 

No  disease  is  so  completely  under  the  control 
of  moral  treatment  as  hysterics.*  Harry  Aikin's 

*  Much  is  said  about  the  march  of  mind,  and  one  of  the  les- 
ser proofs  of  it  may  be  admitted  in  the  diminution  of  this  dis- 
ease of  hysteria,  the  prevalence  and  awful  supremacy  of  which 
will  be  remembered  by  all  who  can  look  back  for  twenty  or 
thirty  years. 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  NOT  "  FORGOT."    131 

energetic  voice,  and  his  wife's  gentle,  calm  man- 
ner, soon  subdued  the  spasm  and  restored  their  pa- 
tient to  a  degree  of  rationality. 

"  Oh !  I  know  you,  Susan  ;  and  you,  too,  Harry 
Aikin !"  she  said. 

"  And  we  know  you,  Paulina,"  replied  Susan ; 
"  and  would  be  glad  to  do  any  thing  we  can  for 
you." 

The  kindness  of  Susan's  tone  brought  a  flood  of 
tears  from  Paulina.  This  seemed  to  relieve  her, 
and  she  said,  in  her  natural  voice — 

"  But  you  don't  know,  you  don't  know — "  her  ut- 
terance was  choked. 

"We  don't  know"  said  Susan,  "but  we  can 
guess." 

"  And  can  you  speak  so  kindly  to  me  ?" 

"  There  is  no  reason  we  should  not  be  kind  to 
you  ;  kindness  is  what  you  want,  and  we  have  to 
give,  so  it  may  be  a  comfort  to  us  both." 

"  Oh  !  indeed,  I  do  waiat  it,"  said  Paulina,  re- 
curring to  her  present  and  pressing  troubles.  "  See 
here,  Harry  Aikin,"  she  added,  picking  up  the  note 
she  had  dropped  ;  "  do  you  advise  me  what  to  do  ; 
this  comes  from  my  hus — "  She  hesitated:  she 
felt  this  was  no  time  for  deception,  and  she  added, 
"  from  him  I  called  my  husband." 

Aikin  read  the  note,  which  was  as  follows : — 

'^1  am  blown,  and  must  make  a  voyage  up  the 
river  to  Lockport — save  yourself — the  police  dogs 
are  on  the  scent — -look  to  the  black  trunk." 

"  You  must  tell  me  the  truth,  Paulina,  or  I  can 
be  of  no  service  to  you.  How  long  have  you  lived 
with  this  man  ?" 

"  Six  months." 


132  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

"  How  long  have  you  known  him  ?" 

"  The  same  time,  Harry  Aikin,"  she  replied, 
without  raising  her  eyes  ;  for,  with  the  companions 
of  her  innocent  days,  came  the  feeling  of  shame. 

"  Do  you  know  what  he  is  taken  up  for  ?" 

"  I  don't ;  but  I  guess  for  passing  counterfeit 
bills." 

"  Have  you  been  concerned  with  him  ?  Answer 
truly,  Paulina." 

"  Well — he  has  given  me  money  to  spend,  and 
told  me  to  ask  no  questions,  and  he  would  tell  me 
no  lies.  I  never  knew  a  true  note  from  a  false 
one." 

"  Did  you  not  believe  you  were  passing  counter 
feit  money?" 

"  I  did  not  know  that  I  was,  and  that  is  the  most 
I  can  say,  Harry  Aikin  ;  but,  as  true  as  I  live,  I 
have  pawned  my  ear-rings  and  my  finger-rings 
rather  than  offer  this  money,  and  I  did  not  use  it 
till  I  had  nothing  more  the  pawnbrokers  would 
take  ;  that  is  the  truth,  Harry.  I  have  not  long 
to  live,  I  am  sure  I  have  not.  Take  pity  on  me, 
Harry  Aikin,  and  save  me  from  finishing  my 
wretched  life  in  the  state  prison !  Susan  !  Susan  ! 
beg  him !  Oh !  think  of  old  times  in  Essex  !" 

"  Be  sure,  be  sure,  Paulina,  Harry  will  do  all 
he  can  for  you." 

"  Yes,  that  I  will ;  no  time  must  be  lost :  kay 
with  her,  Susan,  till  I  return." 

"  You  ain't  going  to  inform  against  me  ?"  said 
the  miserable  woman,  springing  after  him  ;  but, 
before  he  could  reply,  she  shrunk  back,  self-con- 
demned, and  burst  into  tears. 

"  It's  so  long,"  she  said,  "  since  I  have  had  any 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  NOT  "FORGOT."    l33 

vhing  to  do  with  anybody  I  could  believe  in  !  I  am 
a  poor  creature,  Susan !  I  can  remember  the  time 
when  I  felt  above  you  ;  and  now  it  seems  too  much 
for  you  to  speak  to  such  as  me  !" 

It  seemed  a  great  relief  to  her  to  confess  her 
faults ;  to  retrace  the  past,  and,  looking  through 
the  dark  way  she  had  trodden,  to  catch  now  and 
then  a  glimpse  of  her  early  days.  With  a  sprink' 
ling  of  kind  words  from  Susan,  she  went  on  as 
follows  : — 

"  Oh,  Susan  Aikin,  you  tha^  have  an  honest 
husband,  and  good  children,  and  are  content  to  be 
poor,  you  don't  know  the  feelings  of  the  fallen. 
Don't  you  think  it's  some  excuse  for  me  that  I  had 
such  a  poor  bringing  up  ?  The  first  I  can  remem- 
ber was  my  mother  talking  about  my  pretty  eyes, 
and  so  on,  and  curling  my  hair  ;  and  the  main 
thing  was  to  get  me  handsome  outside-things  ; 
how  I  used  to  despise  'your  clothes  and  Lottie's  ; 
it  was  all,  all  of  a  piece.  Mother  said  she  could 
not  afford  to  send  me  to  the  subscription-school ; 
but,  when  that  dancing-school  was  set  up  in  Essex, 
I  was  sent  to  that.  Do  you  remember  I  begged 
Uncle  Phil  to  let  you  go,  but  he  would  not  hear  to 
it :  he  said  l  you  danced  about  your  work,  and  you 
danced  to  school,  and  that  was  the  dancing  for 
poor  folks.'  " 

"  Father  was  right,"  said  Susan,  with  a  smile  at 
the  characteristic  reply  she  had  forgotten. 

"  Yes,  he  was  indeed  right.  Uncle  Phil  was 
always  reckoned  simple-minded  ;  but  I  have  known 
all  sorts  of  people,  and  I  can  tell  you,  Susan,  that 
those  who  set  their  minds  to  do  the  right  thing,  be 
they  ever  so  simple,  go  straight  fcead — while 
M 


134  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

your  bright  folks  slump  on  the  right  hand  and  on 
the  left.  But  where  was  I — oh,  looking  back — a 
dreary  prospect !  I  grew  up  a  poor,  ignorant, 
thoughtless,  vain  thing — but,  Susan,  I  was  not 
hard-hearted  ;  even  then,  had  I  got  into  good  hands 
— had  I  married  a  solid  man,  and  had  children  to 
take  care  of,  I  should  have  been,  not  such  a  wife 
and  mother  as  you  are,  but  I  might  have  been  a 
decent  woman — and  that  was  what  I  had  secret 
cravings  to  be,  even  when  I  had  a  carriage  at  my 
command,  and  elegant  rooms  and  furniture." 
"  Poor  Paulina  !" 

"  Yes,  Susan,  most  to  be  pitied  then  ;  for  then 
I  was  most  blinded  to  all  good  ;  I  can  see  it  now, 
even  from  these  depths.  You  know  mother  mar- 
ried a  rich  old  man,  what  we  thought  rich,  and  we 
moved  to  New- York  ;  I  had  always  lots  of  young 
men  after  me ;  I  lived  at  the  theatre,  and  the  public 
balls,  and  such  places,  and  cared  for  nothing  but 
dress  and  flattery.  Morris  Finley  courted  me — I 
always  liked  him — and  if  I  had  married  him  then 
— but  there's  no  use  in  looking  back ;  I  wonder 
if  his  conscience  would  be  easy  if  he  could  see  me 
the  poor  ruined  wretch  I  am  now.  Hark  ! — what 
noise  is  that  ?" 

"  It's  only  my  children  and  Juliet,  playing." 
"  Poor  Juliet ! — do  you  think  Harry  will  get  me 
clear,  Susan  ?" 

"  I  hope  so  ;  but  had  you  not  better  compose 
yourself,  and  try  to  get  a  little  sleep  ?" 

"  Sleep  !  I  cannot.  If  you  knew  what  a  relief 
it  is  to  me  to  unburden  my  heart — to  have  a  good 
person  willing  to  sit  down  by  me  as  you  do.  As  I 
was  saying,  when  my  stepfather  died,  and  we  had 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  NOT  "FORGOT."    135 

nothing  left,  and  Morris  Finley  felt  he  was  going 
ahead  in  the  world,  he  left  me.  We  went  to  Es- 
sex, and  then  came  back  to  New- York ;  mother  set 
up  the  milliner's  business — temptation  was  on  every 
side ;  and  no  wonder  that  such  a  poor  weak  crea- 
ture as  I  fell.  There  was  nothing  to  bind  me  to 
virtue.  My  mother,  poor  soul,  died ;  and  her 
death  set  me  to  thinking ;  and  then,  if  a  hand  had 
been  stretched  out  to  me  in  kindness,  it  would 
have  saved  me  ;  but  the  good  set  their  faces  against 
the  bad — they  do,  Susan — I  mean  common  good 
folks.  You  cannot  tell  what  it  is  to  have  the  eye 
of  your  fellow-creature  look  on  you  with  scorn,  or 
turned  from  you  as  if  you  were  too  vile  to  look 
upon :  I  have  felt  this,  and  I  went  from  bad  to 
worse." 

"  Why  did  not  you  come  to  us,  Paulina  ?  We 
would  have  done  what  we  could  for  you." 

"  I  was  afraid  to,  Susan  ;  I  did  not  suppose  there 
was  anybody  on  earth  good  enough  to  pity  me, 
because  I  was  wicked  ;  and,  for  that,  most  needed 
their  pity." 

"  Then,  Paulina,  you  must  have  concluded 
there  were  no  true  followers  of  Him  who  came  to 
seek  and  save  those  that  were  lost?" 

"  Maybe  I  have  my  own  evil  courses,  in  part,  to 
thank  for  such  thoughts,  Susan  ;  but,  then,  is  it  not 
strange  that  human  creatures  don't  make  more 
allowance  for  one  another  ?  They  say  sick  folks 
feel  for  sick  folks.  Sin  is  the  worst  of  sickness, 
and  are  there  any  quite  free  from  it  ?" 

"  You  are  right,  Paulina ;  the  strong  should 
uphold  the  weak — the  well  should  look  after  the 
eick." 


136  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

"  That's  what  I  mean,  Susan,  and  I  believe  you 
are  so  very  good  you  practise  it;  but  it  is  not 
strange  I  dreaded  to  see  your  face  ;  and  all  that 
Juliet  told  me  of  you  and  your  children,  bringing 
up  to  be  a  blessing  and  honour  to  the  land,  made 
me  more  and  more  ashamed  of  myself.  Thank 
God,  I  never  had  a  child.  I  do  love  Juliet — you 
see  I  am  not  fit  to  take  .care  of  her — but  I  did  not 
always  tyrannise  over  her — not  when — " 

"  Not  when  you  were  yourself,  Paulina."  Pau- 
lina nodded  assent :  she  had  not  courage  in  words 
to  confess  her  intemperance.  "  Juliet  was  true  to 
you,"  continued  Susan ;  "  she  seems  grateful  for 
your  kindness  to  her." 

"  Does  she — does  Juliet  feel  grateful  to  me?" 

"  She  does,  Paulina ;  and  that  ought  to  be  a 
comfort  to  you." 

"  It  is — it  is ;  thank  God,  there  is  one  creature 
on  earth  the  better  for  my  having  lived !  My 
life  !  Oh  God,  forgive  me  ! — poor  Juliet — when  I 
arn  gone,  Susan,  you  will  see  to  her,  won't  you?" 

"  I  will  do  the  best  I  can." 

"  Thank  you,  Susan ;  then  I  shall  die  easy  as 
to  her.  I  have  done  but  little,  though  I  never 
quite  lost  sight  of  my  promise  to  her  poor  dying 
mother." 

"  Who  was  her  mother,  Paulina  ?" 

"  No  one  that  you  ever  heard  of.  She  called 
her  name  Maria  Brown.  I  never  saw  her  till  she 
was  near  her  death.  The  night  before  she  died  I 
sat  behind  her,  and  held  her  up  while  she  wrote  a 
few  lines,  and,  taking  a  miniature  from  her  neck, 
sealed  them  up  together.  She  was  so  weak  she 
fainted  then,  and  when  she  came  to  she  said  she 


RICH  MAN'S  CHARITIES.         137 

would  direct  the  packet  the  next  day,  and  tell  me 
what  to  do  with  it.  I  slept  by  her  ;  but,  dear  me  ! 
I  had  taken  some  hot  gin-and-water — for  I  was 
troubled  with  a  cold  stomach — and  I  slept  sound 
and  late,  and  when  I  waked  she  was  dead  and 
cold.  Poor  little  Juliet !  I  never  shall  forget  how 
she  lay  with  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck 
till  they  sent  a  coffin  from  the  almshouse ;  it 
seemed  as  if  the  child  were  glued  there." 
"  Did  you  not  open  the  packet,  Paulina  ?" 
"  Yes ;  but  no  names  were  mentioned.  Her 
letter  was  to  her  father,  but  it  was  only  signed 
with  initials." 

"  Were  they  M.  B.?"  eagerly  asked  Susan,  as  a 
faint  hope  dawned  upon  her. 

"  M.  B. — B. — no,  I  am  pretty  sure  it  was  not  B. : 
it  might  have  been  B.  L. ;  I  think  it  was  L." 
"  You  have  preserved  the  packet  ?" 
"  I  did,  carefully ;  but  in  our  last  move  it  was 
stolen  or  lost !" 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE    RICH    MANS    CHARITIES. 

"Many  a  house  is  full  where  the  mind  is  unfurnished  and 
the  heart  is  empty  ;  and  no  hovel  of  mere  penury  ought  ever  tD 
be  so  sad  as  that  house." — DEWEY. 

IT  was  near  ten  o'clock  when  Henry  Aikin,  in 
pursuance  of  his  benevolent  designs  for  Paulina, 
rung  at  Morris  Finley's  door,  and  told  the  servant, 
M2 


138  THE   POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

in  reply  to  his  saying  Mr.  Finley  was  dressing  for 
a  party,  that  he  had  pressing  business,  and  must 
speak  with  him.  The  servant  left  Aikin  in  the 
entry,  and,  entering  the  drawing-room,  pushed  the 
door  to  after  him,  but  not  so  close  as  to  prevent 
Aikin  hearing  the  following  dialogue  : — 

"  There's  somebody,  ma'am,  in  the  entry,  wants 
to  speak  with  Mr.  Finley." 

"  Why  did  not  you  tell  him  he  was  not  at  home?" 

"  Because  he  is,  ma'am." 

"  Pshaw,  Tom,  you  know  he  is  going  out  imme- 
diately, and  it's  all  the  same  thing.  Do  you  know 
who  it  is  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Is  it  a  gentleman  ?" 

"  He  speaks  like  one,  ma'am." 

"  You  certainly  know,  Tom — is  he  a  gentle- 
man, or  only  a  man?" 

"  He  is  dressed  like  a  man,  ma'am." 

"  Tom,  you  must  get  over  tormenting  me  this 
way :  I've  told  you  a  hundred  times  the  distinc- 
tion." Tom  smiled.  He  evidently  had  in  his 
mind  something  like  the  old  distinction  of  the 
poet,  though  he  could  not,  or  dared  not,  express  it — 

"  Worth  makes  the  man — the  want  of  it,  the  fellow." 

"  Well,  well,"  added  Mrs.  Finley,  "  show  him 
in,  and  tell  Mr.  Finley." 

Aikin  entered  with  that  air  of  blended  modesty 
and  independence  that  characterized  him  ;  cer- 
tainly with  no  look  of  inferiority,  for  he  felt  none  ; 
and,  as  Mrs.  Finley's  eye  fell  on  his  fine  counte- 
nance, hers  relaxed,  and  she  was  in  the  dilemma, 
for  a  moment,  of  not  knowing  whether  to  class 


THE   RICH    MAN'S    CHARITIES.  139 

him  with  the  somebody 's  or  nolodys;  but  her  glance 
descended  to  the  plain  and  coarse  garments  of  our 
friend  in  time  to  change  a  ha.lf-made  courtesy  to  a 
salutation  befitting  an  inferior.  "  Sit  down,"  she 
said,  waving  her  hand  to  the  nearest  chair. 

Aikin  took  the  offered  seat,  and  awaited,  with 
what  patience  he  could,  the  forthcoming  of  the 
master  of  the  splendid  mansion,  observing  what 
was  before  him  with  a  feeling,  not  of  envy  or 
covetousness,  but  with  deep  joy  and  thankfulness 
for  the  virtue  and  true  happiness  of  his  humble 
home.  Miss  Sabina  Jane  Finley,  now  a  young 
lady  of  twelve  years,  after  surveying  Aikin  from 
top  to  toe,  said  to  her  mother,  in  a  suppressed  but 
audible  voice,  "  Gentleman  /" 

Mrs.  Finley  seemed  to  have  what  she,  no  doubt, 
thought  a  truly  genteel  unconsciousness  of  "  the 
man's"  presence.  She  was  very  richly  dressed 
for  a  ball ;  but,  as  is  a  common  case  with  poor 
human  nature,  she  was  transferring  the  fault  of  her 
faded  and  time-stricken  face  to  her  milliner.  "  I 
declare,  Sabina  Jane,"  she  said,  surveying  herself 
in  the  mirror,  "  I  never  will  get  another  cap  of 
Thompson — these  flowers  are  blue  as  the  heavens." 

"  You  selected  them  yourself,  mamma." 

"  To  be  sure  I  did ;  but  how  could  I  tell  how 
they  would  look  in  the  evening  ?" 

"  Why  don't  you  wear  your  new  French  cap, 
mamma  ?" 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  child — have  not  I  worn  that 
twice  already?  Pull  down  that  blonde  over  my 
shoulder — how  it  whoops !  This  is  the  second 
time  Smetz  has  served  me  this  way.  This  gown 
sets  like  fury.  I  never  go  out  but  I  have  some 


140  tHE   £00&   RICH   MAtf,   ETC. 

trial  that  spoils  all  my  pleasure.  Don't  let  me  sed 
you  prink  so,  miss,"  turning  to  her  daughter,  and 
pulling  from  her  head  a  dress  cap,  that  she  was 
trying  on  and  arranging  with  all  the  airs  and 
graces  of  a  fine  lady ;  "  I  have  told  you  a  thousand 
times,  Sabina  Jane,"  she  continued,  "  not  to  be 
fond  of  dress ! — Well,  Tom,  what  is  wanted  now  ?" 

"  That  French  gentleman,  ma'am,  what  teached 
Miss  Sabina  Jane,  is  to  call  early  for  his  money ; 
and  if  you'd  please  to  give  it  to  me  to-night — " 

"  I  can't  attend  to  it  to-night — tell  him  to  call 
again." 

"  He  has  called  again  and  again,  ma'am  ;  and 
he  says  his  wife  is  sick — and  he  looks  so  distress- 
ed-like." 

"  I  have  not  the  money  by  me  to-night,  Tom." 

"  Shall  I  ask  Mr.  Finley  for  it,  ma'am  ?" 

"  No,  Torn." 

The  image  of  the  imhappy  foreigner  haunted 
Tom's  imagination  ;  and,  after  lingering  for  a  mo- 
ment with  the  door  in  his  hand,  he  said — "  Maybe 
rna'am  don't  remember  Mr.  Finley  gave  out  the 
money  for  Mr.  Felix." 

Mrs.  Finley  did  remember  Well  that  she  had  re- 
ceived the  money,  and  had  spent  it  that  very  af- 
ternoon for  a  most  tempting  piece  of  French  em- 
broidery— "  a  love  of  a  pocket  handkerchief,"  that 
cost  only  thirty  dollars  ! — the  price  of  poor  Mon- 
sieur Felix's  labour  for  two  quarters,  with  an  indo- 
lent and  neglected  child.  "  Shut  the  door,  Tom," 
she  said  ;  "  I  can't  be  bothered  about  this  money 
now  ;  tell  Mr.  Felix  to  call  after  breakfast."  Tom 
despaired  and  withdrew.  "  How  impertinent  Tom 


THE    RICH    MAN'S    CHARITIES.  141 

is  getting,"  added  Mrs.  Finley ;  "  but  this  is  the 
way  of  all  the  servants  in  this  country." 

The  housemaid  now  entered,  and  announced 
that  Miss  Rosa  (a  three-year  old  girl)  had  been 
throwing  up  the  custard,  and  pie,  and  raisins,  and 
so  on,  that  she  ate  at  dinner. 

"  Dear  me  !  poor  thing  !"  exclaimed  the  mother, 
"  what  a  weak  stomach  she  has  !  Does  Nancy 
want  me  to  come  up  and  see  her  ?" 

"  Nancy  is  out,  ma'am." 

"Out  yet  ?  I  don't  know  how  she  could  think 
of  going  out  at  all,  when  she  told  me  at  tea-time 
that  Rosa  was  feverish.  I  thought  there  was  one 
faithful  servant  in  the  world,  but  now  I  give  up." 
Mrs.  Finley  went  to  look  after  her  child,  while  Ai- 
kin  was  making  his  own  mental  comments  on  the 
reasonableness  of  a  parent,  who  expected  more 
fidelity  from  a  hireling  for  paltry  wages,  than  she 
practised  herself,  with  all  the  stimulants  of  the 
responsibilities  and  happiness  of  a  mother.  For- 
tunately, for  he  had  become  very  impatient,  he  was 
not  left  long  to  ponder  on  this  inconsistency.  Fin- 
ley  came  in,  dressed  and  perfumed  for  the  party. 
"  Ah,  Harry  Aikin,"  he  said,  after  a  momentary 
surprise,  "  is  it  you — how  are  you  ?" 

"  Well,  thank  you,  Morris." 

"  What  impudence,"  thought  Miss  Sabina  Jane, 
"  for  that  man  to  call  my  papa  Morris  !" 

"  I  have  some  private  business  with  you,"  added 
Aikin,  glancing  at  the  young  lady. 

"  Sabina  Jane,"  said  Finley,  "  tell  your  mamma 
the  carriage  is  waiting — these  fellows  charge  so 
abominably  for  waiting."  This  last  remark  was 
evidently  a  hint  to  Aikin  to  be  brief. 


142         THE  poort  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

But  Aikin  wanted  no  such  spur.  He  commn* 
fcicated  concisely  Paulina's  condition  and  wants  i 
and,  knowing  that  Fiiiley's  conscience  was  of  the 
sluggish  order,  he  tried  to  rouse  it  by  recalling 
vividly  to  his  remembrance  the  past — the  days  of 
Paulina's  innocence  and  beauty,  and  Finley's  de* 
votion  to  her.  But  Finley  slurred  it  over  like  a 
long-forgotten  dream,  that  would  not  afford  the 
slightest  basis  for  a  claim  upon  his  charity. 

"  She  is  in  a  shocking  condition,  to  be  sure, 
Aikin,"  he  said ;  "  but,  then,  I  make  it  an  invaria- 
ble rule  never  to  give  but  to  those  that  I  know  to 
be  worthy." 

"  There  is  much  to  be  done  for  our  fellow-crea 
tures,  Finley,  besides  giving  gifts  to  the  worthy." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that ;  and  I  subscribe  liberally  to 
several  of  our  institutions." 

"  But  will  you  do  nothing  towards  encouraging 
this  poor,  homeless,  friendless  creature  to  repent* 
ance  and  reformation  ?" 

"  Pshaw  !  Aikin,  they  never  reform." 

"  If  that  is  true,  a  part  of  the  sin  must  lie  at  our 
doors,  who  afford  them  no  helps.  But  there  is  no 
time  to  discuss  this  :  Paulina,  I  fear,  will  not  be 
able  to  prove  her  sincerity.  She  has,  it  seems  to 
me,  but  little  while  to  live  ;  if  I  can  save  her  from 
the  police,  I  shall  try  hard  to  keep  her  where  she 
is,  that  her  little  remnant  of  life  may  be  spent  with 
her  old  friends,  who  will  care  for  her  body  and 
soul." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  really  think  she  is  going  to 
make  a  die  of  it,  I  am  willing  to  give  you  some* 
thing  for  her." 

Finley  took  out  his  pocketbook,  and   after,  aa 


THE    RICH   MAN'S    CHARITIES.  143 

Aikin  could  not  but  suspect,  looking  for  a  smaller 
sum,  he  gave  him  a  five-dollar  note,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  is  conferring  an  astounding  obligation. 
Aikin  expressed  neither  surprise  nor  gratitude ; 
but,  quietly  putting  up  the  note,  he  said,  •"  You 
know,  Finley,  money  is  not  the  most  important 
thing  I  had  to  ask.  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  po- 
lice-office with  me.  You  are  a  great  merchant, 
and  your  name  is  well  known  in  the  city  ;  I  am 
nobody,  and  it  may  be  necessary  for  me  to  get  my 
statement  endorsed.  Come,  it  is  not  five  minutes' 
walk  for  you." 

"  Why,  bless  you,  man,  don't  you  see  I'm  going 
out !  there's  my  wife  coming  down  stairs  now." 

"Let  her  go  in  the  carriage — you  can  follow 
her." 

"  Oh !  that's  impossible — she  would  not  go  alone 
into  a  party  for  the  world." 

"  Can  she  not  wait  till  your  return  ?" 

"  No ;  it  is  not  reasonable  to  ask  it — it's  late 
now — and — and — " 

"  Good  night ;  I  have  wasted  my  time  here," 
said  Aikin,  cutting  short  Finley's  excuses,  and 
leaving  him  trying  to  silence  his  conscience  by 
dwelling  on  the  five  dollars  he  had  given — by  fret- 
ting at  the  deused  folly  of  going  out  when  people 
were  tired  and  wanted  to  go  to  bed — and  by  joining 
in  his  wife's  vituperation  against  Nancy  and  all 
her  tribe. 


144  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,   ETC. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ANOTHER    RICH   MERCHANT'S    HOT73E. 

"  I  WILL  go  straight  to  Mr.  Beckwith's,"  thought 
Aikin,  as  he  left  Finley's  ;  "  it  is  late,  to  be  sure, 
but  never  too  late  nor  too  early  with  him  to  do  a 
kind  act."  Mr.  Beckwith  was  one  of  a  very  rich 
firm,  who  employed  Aikin  as  their  carman.  He 
rung  at  the  door,  and  was  admitted  by  Jacob,  a  col- 
oured man,  who  had  grown  gray  in  Mr.  Beckwith's 
service. 

"  Walk  in,  sir,"  said  he,  civilly,  leading  the  way 
to  the  drawing-room,  where  Mrs.  Beckwith,  with 
her  cloak  on,  was  sitting  beside  her  eldest  daugh- 
ter, warming  her  feet,  while  her  two  eldest  sons 
sat  at  the  table  drawing.  As  Aikin  entered,  Mrs. 
Beckwith  saluted  him  civilly,  as  she  would  any 
other  stranger ;  and,  while  one  of  the  young  men 
rose  to  set  a  chair  for  him,  she  made  some  cour- 
teous remarks  upon  the  weather  and  walking ;  and 
then,  after  Jacob  had  returned,  and  said  Mr.  Beck- 
with would  be  down  directly,  she  resumed  the 
conversation  with  her  daughter,  which  Aikin's  en- 
trance had  interrupted. 

"  Did  you  find  Madame  Felix  very  ill,  mother7" 
asked  the  young  lady. 

"  Very  ill,  Susan,  and  wanting  every  thing :  no 
wood,  no  comforts  of  any  sort.  The  poor  man 
has  money  due  to  him,  but  he  says  he  cannot  get  it.* 


ANOTHER  RICH  MERCHANT'S  HOUSE.   145 

"  Why  didn't  he  let  us  know  their  condition 
sooner  ?" 

"  Ah,  Susan,  it's  very  hard  for  such  a  man  to* 
beg." 

"  But  it  should  not  be  called  begging,  should  it, 
mother?  If,  as  you  and  father  say,  we  are  all 
children  of  one  family,  when  one  wants  what  an- 
other has  to  spare,  I  do  not  see  why  the  one 
should  not  ask,  or  the  other  should  think  it  such  a 
mighty  favour  to  give." 

"  You  have  the  right  feeling  about  it,  my  dear ; 
but  the  difficulty  is  to  reconcile  the  charities  of 
life  with  the  spirit  of  independence  and  self-reli* 
ance  which  is  so  necessary  to  industry  and  exer- 
tion :  but  where  is  Louisa  ?" 

"  She  is  sitting  with  mammy:  her  head  has  been 
much  worse  since  you  went  out,  and  Louisa  will 
not  leave  her." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it :  many  a  night  has  mammy  sat; 
by  your  bedsides,  patiently  watching  over  you. 
But,  Kate,"  added  the  mother,  for  the  first  time 
espying  a  child  of  eight  years  watching  the  prog- 
ress of  her  brothers'  drawing,  "how  happens  it 
you  are  up  yet  ?" 

"  Oh,  mother,  we  have  had  such  a  funny  time, 
planning  houses !" 

"  Planning  houses  f  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

An  explanation  followed,  by  which  it  appeared 
that  Mr.  Beckwith  contemplated  building  a  block 
of  houses,  to  rent  to  those  who  could  afford  to  pay 
only  a  low  rent.  The  houses  were  to  contain 
every  convenience  and  comfort  compatible  with  a 
reasonable  per  centage  on  the  money  invested. 
Mr.  Beckwith  had  set  his  children  to  drawing 
N 


146  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

plans  for  these  houses,  not  so  much  to  test  their 
skill  in  draughting  as  their  knowledge  of  the  wants 
of  the  poor,  and  their  zeal  for  their  accommoda- 
tion. Kate  amused  herself  with  relating  the  vari- 
ous failures  and  successes  of  the  boys — how  one 
had  left  out  the  chimneys  and  the  other  the  win- 
dows— to  all  which  Aikin  listened  with  eager 
interest,  notwithstanding  the  pressing  nature  of 
his  business. 

Not  so  much  time  had  passed  as  has  been  occu- 
pied in  relating  this  scene,  when  Mr.  Beckwith  ap- 
peared, and,  after  speaking  to  Aikin,  turned  to  his 
wife,  saying,  "  My  dear,  this  is  my  friend  Aikin, 
of  whom  you  have  often  heard  me  speak."  Mrs. 
Beck  with' s  countenance  lighted  up  with  that  ex- 
pression so  common  when  a  person  is  first  intro- 
duced to  a  stranger  for  whom  favourable  impres- 
sions are  entertained.  Aikin,  modest  man  that  he 
was,  was  gratified  with  this  involuntary  tribute. 
How  many  opportunities  of  strengthening  the 
bonds  of  human  brotherhood  by  a  friendly  look,  or 
a  kind  word,  are  passed  by  and  lost  for  ever! 
"  Lo !  is  not  a  word  better  than  a  gift  ?  but  both  are 
with  a  gracious  man."  Aikin  communicated  his 
business  to  Mr.  Beckwith,  and  without  any  delay 
they  were  on  their  way  to  the  police-office,  where 
Aikin  told  as  much  of  Paulina's  story  to  Mr. 

Justice  H as  he  deemed  necessary  for  the 

purposes  of  justice ;  and  the  said  justice  being 
more  moved  than  was  his  wont  by  Aikin's  appeal 
in  Paulina's  behalf,  and  authorized  by  the  assu- 
rance of  so  substantial  a  person  as  Beckwith,  of 
the  great  firm  of  B.  B.  and  Co.,  in  his  reliance 
on  Aikin's  testimony;  and,  moreover,  having  al- 


ANOTHER  RICH  MERCHANT'S  HOUSE.   147 

ready  appeased  the  demands  of  justice  by  the 
detection  and  apprehension  of  the  gang  associated 
with  Smith,  vouchsafed  to  assure  Aikin  that,  pro- 
vided the  black  trunk  was  forthcoming  in  the  morn- 
ing, no  proceedings  should  be  instituted  against 
Paulina. 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Beckwith,"  said  Aikin,  as  he 
parted  from  his  friend  at  the  corner  of  the  street — 
"  I  am  obliged  to  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Aikin — I  am  the  person  obliged  ; 
for  I  go  to  bed  the  happier  for  having  done  you 
this  service." 

Aikin  was  a  reflecting  man — and,  as  he  walked 
hurriedly  home,  eager  to  relieve  Paulina  of  a  part 
of  her  miserable  burden,  he  made  many  reflections 
upon  the  different  scenes  he  had  witnessed  that 
evening — at  his  own  home — in  Paulina's  room — 
at  Morris  Finley's — and  at  Mr.  Beckwith's ;  and 
he  was  confirmed  in  his  previous  conclusion,  that 
riches  consist  not  in  the  abundance  of  possessions, 
nor  poverty  in  their  scantiness ;  that  the  mind  is 
the  treasure-house ;  and,  finally,  that  Paulina, 
though  poor  indeed,  was  not  much  poorer  than 
Morris  Finley  and  his  wife. 


148  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A    CURE    FOR    THE    HEARTACHE, 

THE  next  day,  after  Aikin  had  finished  his 
morning  devotions — this  good  man  never  ventured 
upon  the  business,  temptations,  and  trials  of  the 
day,  without  first  committing  himself  and  his 
household  to  Him  who  "  heareth  those  that  call 
on  him" — Juliet  was  observed  to  rise  from  her 
knees  and  rest  her  head  on  the  back  of  the  chair, 
go  as  to  screen  her  face,  while  her  bosom  heaved 
and  her  tears  fell  on  the  floor.  The  children, 
quick  to  see  and  to  sympathize,  gathered  round 
her  ;  one  said,  "  Do  you  feel  sick,  Juliet  ?" — an^ 
other,  "  What  is  the  matter,  Juliet  ?" — and  little 
Ruth,  who  was  fresh  from  a  moral  lesson  she  had 
received  from  her  Aunt  Lottie,  the  amount  of  which 
was,  that  sin,  in  all  its  modifications,  was  the  thing 
to  be  cried  for  in  this  world,  Ruth  asked,  "  Have 
you  been  naughty,  Juliet  ?"  Still  Juliet  did  not  re- 
ply, till  Mrs.  Aikin  drew  her  towards  her,  and,  set- 
ling  her  on  her  lap,  said — "  Tell  me,  Juliet,  what 
troubles  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  ma'am,"  she  answered,  "  I  know,  by  Mr. 
Aikin's  prayer,  that  my  mother,  as  I  call  her,  is 
going  to  die,  and  then  I  shall  have  to  go  away  from 
you  all — and  I  shall  be  all  alone  in  the  world." 
The  children  cast  an  imploring  glance  at  their 
mother,  which  said,  a^  plain  as  words  could  express 


A   CURE    FOR    THE    HEARTACHE.  149 

it — "Pray  tell  her  that  our  home  shall  be  her 
home — our  friends  her  friends."  The  elder  chil- 
dren knew  it  belonged  to  their  parents,  and  not  to 
them,  to  give  such  an  assurance ;  but  the  younger 
ones  thought  only  of  the  quickest  way  to  solace 
the  poor  child ;  and  Ruth,  putting  her  cheek  to  Ju- 
liet's, whispered — "  Mother  will  be  your  mother, 
and,  if  you  want  an  aunt,  you  shall  have  a  part  of 
my  Aunt  Lottie." 

Little  Phil,  the  youngling  of  the  flo*ck  and  grand- 
father's pet,  echoed  Ruth's  meaning,  shouting — 
"  And  if  you  want  a  danfather,  you  shall  have  a 
piece  of  my  danfather !"  How  certain  it  is  that 
children  will  imbibe  the  qualities  of  the  moral  at- 
mosphere in  which  they  live.  Parents,  remem- 
bering this,  should  trust  more  to  their  examples,  and 
expect  less  from  their  precepts.  Tears  fell  from 
Mrs.  Aikin's  eyes — tears  from  the  fountain  of  those 
feelings  "  that  have  less  of  earth  in  them  than 
heaven ;" — "  My  good  little  children,"  she  said, 
"we  will  try  not  to  disappoint  you — wipe  away 
your  tears,  Juliet — think  of  another  thing  Mr.  Ai- 
kin  said  in  his  prayer — '  God  is  the  father  of  the 
fatherless  ;'  be  sure,  therefore,  you  cannot  be  alone 
in  the  world." 

"  Come  here,  Juliet,"  said  Mr.  Barlow  ;  and  Ju- 
liet turned  to  him  with  a  brightened  face,  verifying 
the  wise  man's  saying,  that,  "  as  the  dew  assuageth 
the  heat,  so  is  a  kind  word." — "  You  and  I,  Juli- 
et," continued  the  good  man,  "  have  been  led  into 
the  same  fold,  and,  please  God,  we  will  not  separ- 
ate again.  Will  you  live  with  me  and  be  my  lit- 
tle housekeeper — or  room-keeper  ?  I  have  now," 
he  added,  turning,  as  if  in  explanation,  to  Susau 
N  2 


160  THE   POOR   RICH    MAN,   ETC. 

Aikin,  "  enough  for  us  both  ;  say,  Juliet,  will  you 
go  and  live  with  me  ?" 

Juliet  hung  hex  head  ;  the  children  looked  as  if 
they  were  afraid  she  would  say  yes. 

"  Ah,"  added  Mr.  Barlow,  in  a  tone  of  disap* 
pointment,  "  I  thought  you  loved  me,  Juliet." 

"  So  I  do,  sir ;  but— but  it's  so  pleasant  living 
here."  » 

William  Aikin,  whose  expressions  were  as  im* 
pulsive  as  his  feelings,  clapped  his  hands,  and  the 
children  all  manifested,  some  in  one  way,  some  in 
another,  their  delight. 

"  Juliet  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Barlow,  in  a  low  torte, 
to  Harry  Aikin  ;  "  it  is  so  pleasant  living  here,  that, 
when  I  go  away,  I  shall  have  that  dismal  feeling 
Juliet  so  dreads,  that  feeling  of  being  alone.  Oh, 
how  many  times  have  I  wished  the  goodness  and 
happiness  in  your  family  could  be  known.  It 
would  be  a  lesson  to  many  a  proud  rich  man — to 
many  a  discontented  poor  one." 

"  That's  just  what  I  say,  Mr.  Barlow,"  said  Un- 
cle Phil,  rubbing  his  hands  ;  "  I  tell  you  our  folks 
are  samples*  and  the  whole  secret  of  it  is,  that  ev- 
ery one  does  their  best — -that  is  to  say,  lives  up  to 
their  light,  and  if  anybody  can  do  any  better  than 
that,  I  should  like  to  know  how ;  but  come,  the 
breakfast  is  cooling  while  we  are  sarmonizing,  as 
it  were." 

The  breakfast  was  despatched ;  Aikin  went  to 
his  daily  business  ;  Aunt  Lottie  and  Juliet  to  nur- 
sing Paulina ;  Uncle  Phil  to  a  stroll  in  the  sun- 
shine with  little  Phil ;  Mr.  Barlow,  it  being  Satur- 
day and  a  holyday,  sat  down  in  a  comer  with  a 
book  ;  and  Mrs.  Aikin  was  setting  all  "  to  rights" 


A   CURE    FOR   THE    HEARTACHE.  151 

in  that  quiet,  efficient  way  where  every  stroke 
tells,  and  marks  the  expert  housewife. 

"  Did  you  learn  any  thing  of  poor  little  Juliet's 
parentage  from  the  woman  above "?"  asked  Mr. 
Barlow  at  the  first  convenient  opportunity.  Mrs. 
Aikin  related  all  she  had  learned  ;  nothing  could 
well  be  more  unsatisfactory.  Even  Susan  Aikin, 
whose  bright,  healthy  moral  vision  always  per- 
ceived the  first  streak  of  daylight,  could  see  noth- 
ing "  cdmforting"  in  it.  As  she  finished,  Mr.  Bar- 
low heaved  a  sigh,  and  then  said,  "  You  might  have 
thought  my  proposal  to  take  Juliet  very  strange." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir ;  I  am  sure  it  is  qui'te  natural  to  feel 
as  if  you  wanted  to  stretch  a  wing  over  the  poor 
child ;  but — but  the  thing  is,  a  girl  wants  women 
to  look  after  her ;  and  I  have  concluded,  when  Pau- 
lina is  gone,  to  take  Juliet  into  our  family." 

"  What,  Mrs.  Aikin,  with  all  your  children  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  when  one  is  used  to  have  the  care 
of  a  good  many,  an  addition  does  not  seem  to  make 
any  difference.*  We  always  have  a  little  some- 
thing to  spare — and  Juliet,  poor  child,  might  ba 
fed  from  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the  table." 

"  But  then  there  are  other  expenses  besides 
her  food." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  have  considered  that,  and  determin- 
ed, as  long  as  my  health  is  spared,  to  work  one 
hour  extra  every  night ;  what  I  can  thus  earn  wil) 
certainly  cover  all  Juliet's  expenses  to  us — so,  I  see 
my  way  quite  clear  ;  it  is  a  comfort,  sir,  not  to  lose 
the  opportunity." 

*  An  argument  similar  to  this  we  have  often  heard  used  by 
one  whose  sheltering  charities  seem  only  to  be  limited  by  the 
wants  of  those  that  come  within  her  sphere. 


152  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,   ETC. 

"  And  blessed  are  those  who  seek  such  comforts 
dear  Mrs.  Aikin.  But  this  poor  woman — will  she 
be  willing  to  leave  Juliet  with  you  ?" 

"  She  will  be  glad  to.  Her  only  desire  now 
seems  to  be,  for  the  little  time  that  remains,  to  do 
right.  Oh,  Mr.  Barlow,  I  believe  there  are  many 
people  in  wicked  courses  who  would  turn  from 
them  if  they  only  had  some  true  friend.  I  wish 
Paulina  to  stay  here  the  little  time  she  has  to  live, 
so  does  my  husband  ;  but  he  will  not  run  in  debt, 
not  even  to  help  the  distressed,  which  is  a  great 
temptation.  It  takes  more  than  one  would  think 
to  keep  such  a  family  as  ours  in  necessaries  ;  and, 
through  the  blessing  of  kind  Providence  upon  our 
exertions,  we  have  always  had  those,  and  some 
luxuries  too." 

"What  luxuries?"  asked  Mr.  Barlow,  with  a 
smile. 

"  A  good  warm  fire  all  day* — and  a  fire  for  Lot- 
tie's room  whenever  she  wants  it ;  plenty  of  books 
for  the  children,  and  a  share  in  a  library  for  our- 
selves— and  the  pleasure  of  going  to  bed  every  Sat- 
urday night  without  owing  a  shilling,  and  a  little 
something  in  the  Savings'  Bank  against  a  wet  day , 
and — and — "  Susan  hesitated,  for  really  she  could 
not  remember  any  thing  else  that  did  not  come 
within  the  large  class  of  necessaries.  Mr.  Barlow 
finished  her  list — 

"  And  a  shelter  and  food  at  your  table  for  a  friend- 
less stranger.  Mrs.  Aikin,  if  I  could  help  you  to 
put  your  kind  wishes  into  operation  for  this  poor 
woman,  it  would  be  a  real  pleasure  to  me.  I  can 

*  A  little  poor  boy  specified  this  to  me  as  one  of  the  exclusive 
privileges  of  the  rich- 


A   CURE   FOR   THE    HEARTACHE.  153 

let  the  room  I  have  taken  in  Crosby-street,  and  pay 
the  rent  of  hers,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  be  a 
boarder  in  your  family,  and  retain  my  place  in  your 
father's  room  till  this  woman  has  no  longer  occa- 
sion for  hers." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir  ;  but  there  is  back  rent 
to  be  paid.  However,  we  will  talk  it  over  when 
my  husband  comes,  and  contrive  the  best  we  can." 

The  dialogue  of  our  friends  was  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  a  gentleman  who  announced 
himself  as  Mr.  Beckwith,  and  Susan  being  sum- 
moned to  Paulina's  room,  he  was  left  with  Mr. 
Barlow.  After  a  little  playful  talk  with  the  sweet- 
tempered  chubby  children,  Mr.  Beckwith,  feeling 
his  way  with  that  delicacy  that  marks  the  man 
who  does  not  exclude  the  poor  from  the  courtesies 
used  among  equals  in  fortune,  made  some  remarks 
about  Aikin,  and  the  aspect  of  the  family,  that  led 
Mr.  Barlow  to  tell  a  portion  of  his  own  story,  and  to 
relate  the  Aikins'  succouring  charities  to  Juliet, 
and  their  kindness  to  the  poor  outcast  Paulina. 
He  spoke  of  their  exemplary  performance  of  their 
domestic  duties,  and  of  the  advancement  of  their 
children  in  knowledge  and  virtue.  "A  country 
may  well  boast  its  equality,"  he  said,  in  conclusion, 
"that  has  such  families  as  this  in  it.  I  never 
should  have  credited  what  goes  on  beneath  this 
humble  roof  if  I  had  not  witnessed  it.  Here  are 
the  genuine  fruits  of  Christianity,  and  such  fruit 
as  could  only  come  to  perfection  in  a  land  where 
the  government  and  institutions  are  based  on  the 
gospel  principle  of  equal  rights  and  equal  privi- 
leges to  all." 

"  You  are  an  Englishman,  Mr.  Barlow.     Do 


154  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

you  think,  setting  aside  the  greater  compensation 
our  working-men  get  than  yours,  they  are  happier?" 

"  That  is  setting  aside  a  vast  deal,  sir.  This  N 
superior  compensation  represents  the  comforts  of 
life,  the  means  of  education.  What  could  Aikic 
have  been  in  my  country  with  his  shattered  health, 
his  children,  and  helpless  father-in-law,  and  inva- 
lid sister  ?  These  independent  dependants  would 
have  been  tenants  of  the  almshouse — Aikin  him- 
self, most  probably,  there,  and  his  children  sup- 
ported by  the  parish.  When  I  see,  sir,  that  a  man 
so  conditioned  can  bring  up  a  family  as  he  does,  in 
such  a  city  as  this — his  boys  to  be  intelligent  and 
independent  citizens,  and  his  daughters  to  be  re- 
spectable, well-informed  wives  and  mothers, — I 
must  think  this,  sir,  the  happiest  country  in  the 
world  for  the  labouring  man." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right ;  but  we  do  not  make 
the  most  of  our  privileges.  There  is  no  telling 
what  a  nation,  with  our  institutions,  might  become, 
if  the  domestic  virtues  were  better  understood  and 
practised  by  the  labouring  classes, — if  their  found- 
ation were  laid  in  religion,  and  children  were 
brought  up  from  their  cradles  to  be  temperate  and 
true,  and  industrious  and  frugal, — if  every  oppor- 
tunity were  seized  for  improving  them  in  knowl- 
edge, and  in  the  practice  of  the  soul-preserving 
virtues.  The  rich  here  can  make  no  separa- 
ting lines  which  the  poor  cannot  pass.  It  is  the 
poor  who  fence  themselves  in  with  ignorance,  and 
press  themselves  down  with  shiftlessness  and 
vice.  If  there  were  more  such  families  as  this, 
the  rich  would  feel  less  exultation  in  their  wealth, 
the  poor  that  there  was  no  degradation  in  their 


A   CURE    FOR    THE    HEARTACHE.  155 

poverty.  The  rich  would  get  rid  of  their  pride, 
the  poor  of  their  jealousy ;  and  we  should  ad- 
mit, not  theoretically  and  in  our  prayers,  but  prac- 
tically, that  we  are  children  of  one  family,  and 
that  the  happiness  and  advancement  of  one  is  the 
happiness  and  advancement  of  all.  I  am  fortu- 
nate," added  Mr.  Beckwith,  in  conclusion,  "  to 
have  found  you  here,  sir.  Here  is  a  trifling  sum 
for  the  poor  woman  up  stairs  ;  it  will,  I  hope, 
enable  your  friends  to  do  what  they  wish  for  her — 
a  far  greater  benefaction  than  any  money  I  can 
give."  Mrs.  Aikin  entered  just  in  time  to  make 
her  acknowledgments,  and  she  made  them  as  if 
the  kindness  were  done  to  herself.  Mr.  Beckwith 
changed  the  subject.  "  This  house  must  be  small 
for  your  family,  Mrs.  Aikin  1" 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  we  contrive  to  make  it  do." 

"  What  is  your  rent  1" 

"  For  the  whole,  sir,  one  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars." 

"  For  the  whole  house,  excepting  that  poor 
woman's  room?" 

"  I  wish  it  were,  sir,  but  there  are  two  rooms  in 
the  garret  rented  to  different  persons — the  best  at 
six,  the  other  four  shillings  a  week :  then  there 
is  a  good  room  on  this  floor  that  rents  at  seventy- 
five  dollars  a  year ;  and  the  family  in  the  cellar 
pay  a  dollar  a  week.  Paulina's  room  is  twenty 
shillings  a  week." 

"  And  pray,  Mrs.  Aikin,  what  accommodations 
do  you  get  for  your  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  ?" 

"  There  is  this  room — you  see  what  it  is,  sir — 
a  pot  of  paint  and  a  pail  of  whitewash,  always 
ready,  keep  it  decent.  My  husband  made  this," 


156  THE    POOR   RICH   MAN,  ETC. 

she  said,  opening  a  closet,  where  every  thing  was 
stowed  as  neatly  and  compactly  as  honey  in  a 
hive ;  "  we  could  not  do  with  an  open  dresser  in 
a  room  where  we  ate  and  slept ;  and  here,"  open- 
ing a  door  into  a  little  dark  room, — "here  is  a 
comfortable  place  for  the  children."  Comfortable 
it  was,  though  dark  and  small,  by  virtue  of  the 
most  exact  order  and  cleanliness.  "  Then,  sir, 
we  have  the  whole  of  the  second  floor,  which  gives 
us  a  large  comfortable  room  for  my  sister,  another 
for  father,  and  a  little  room  for  the  children.  We 
make  out  very  well,  sir." 

"  I  know,  Mrs.  Aikin,  there  is  a  great  virtue  in 
this  making  out,  but  you  must  suffer  inconvenience 
when  you  have  sickness  in  the  family  V 

11  Why,  sir,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile,  "  we 
take  care  not  to  get  sick  often ;  but,  when  we  have 
needed  a  room  for  sickness,  father  has  turned  in 
with  the  boys ; — father  has  such  a  contented  dis- 
position, nothing  puts  him  out.  Harry — I  mean 
my  husband,  sir — says  such  a  disposition  as  fa- 
ther's is  meat,  drink,  and  lodging." 

"  Pardon  my  making  so  many  inquiries,  Mrs. 
Aikin ;  believe  me,  it  is  not  from  idle  curiosity. 
By  what  contrivance  do  you"  (turning  his  eye  to 
Mr.  Barlow)  "  get  a  spare  room  ?" 

"  A  spare  room,  sir,  is  a  blessing  I  never  expect 
to  have  ;  but  father  has  a  sociable  disposition,  so 
we  call  his  the  spare  room,  and  put  a  friend  there 
when  we  have  occasion." 

Mr.  Beckwith  was  reminded  of  a  certain  system 
of  philosophy  which  teaches  that  there  is  no  mate- 
rial world — no  actual  houses,  furniture,  &c., — that 
these  things  are  only  shadows  of  ideas.  "Ah," 


A   CURE    FOR    THE    HEARTACHE:  157 

thought  he,  "  my  friends  here  are  really  richer 
than  many  that  live  in  four-story  houses."  Having 
an  important  purpose  in  his  inquiries,  he  went  on. 
"  Do  you  not,  Mrs.  Aikin,  experience  serious  in- 
convenience from  having  so  many  families  under 
one  roof?"  i 

"  We  do,  sir.  I  have  often  thought  the  time 
must  come  when  landlords  would  feel  more  for 
poor  people,  and  be  more  considerate  who  they 
put  together.  It  is  so  difficult  to  keep  children 
from  bad  company,  poor  things — they  are  not  par- 
ticular, you  know,  sir.  This  is  the  only  thing  that 
has  ever  really  worried  me  about  our  situation :  I 
ean  contrive  to  get  along  with  little  troubles." 

"  And  what  are  the  little  troubles  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  it  is  something  of  a  trial  not  to  have 
a  decent  steps,  entry,  and  stairs.  We  have  no 
place  to  store  wood,  so  we  cannot  buy  it  in  sum* 
mer,  which  would  be  a  great  saving  to  us.  Then, 
the  cistern  is  leaky,  and  not  half  large  enough  to 
furnish  water  to  half  the  tenants  ;  and,  if  we  set 
tubs  under  the  front  spout,  there  is  always  some 
one  to  dispute  our  right ;  so  we  have  given  up 
rain-water,  and  make  pump-water  do  :  since  then, 
every  one  in  the  house  offers  us  a  portion  of  their 
rain-water ;  so,  as  my  husband  says,  *  The  peace 
principle  is  the  best  policy.' " 

Mr.  Beckwith,  after  making  a  calculation,  ex- 
claimed, "  Four  hundred  and  sixty-nine  dollars  is 
paid  for  the  rent  of  this  house.  The  whole  property 
is  not  worth  four  thousand  five  hundred.  But  so  it 
is  all  over  the  city ;  the  poor  pay  rents  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  the  rich.  With  the  very  poor  and  vicious 
this  is  inevitable  — -they  are  transient  tenants,  and 
O 


158  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

their  pay  uncertain.  But  the  industrious  and  hon- 
est should  not  be  obliged  to  endure  such  evils  as 
you  suffer,  Mrs.  Aikin.  I  trust  the  attention  of 
capitalists  will  be  attracted  to  this  subject.  Ask 
your  husband  to  come  to  my  house  this  evening. 
I  am  glad  to  have  begun  an  acquaintance  with  you, 
Mrs.  Aikin.  It  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  it  end  here." 

Mr.  Beckwith  went  his  way,  and,  meditating  on 
the  power  of  the  domestic  virtues  to  enrich  a  home, 
and  multiply  the  good  things  of  this  life,  he  re- 
peated, mentally,  those  words  of  which  he  thought 
he  had  witnessed  the  illustration  : — 

"  And  seek  not  what  ye  shall  eat  and  what  ye 
shall  drink,  neither  be  ye  of  doubtful  mind.  For 
all  these  things  do  the  nations  of  the  world  seek 
after,  and  your  father  knoweth  that  ye  have  need 
of  these  things.  But  rather  seek  ye  the  kingdom 
of  God,  and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto 
you/' 


LIGHT    IN   A   DARK   PLACE.  159 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

LIGHT    IN   A   DARK   PLACE. 

ON  the  morning  of  Mr.  Beckwith's  call,  another 
and  very  different  visiter  knocked  at  Mrs.  Aikin's 
door,  and  inquired  "  If  there  was  not  a  woman,  or 
creater,  or  something  of  that  sort,  by  the  name  of 
Smith,  living  there."  Mrs.  Aikin  boded  no  good, 
and,  fearful  Paulina  would  overhear  the  inquiry, 
she  bade  the  man  enter,  answering  him  affirma- 
tively while  she  closed  the  door. 

"  You  need  not  be  so  private,  mistress ;  I  am 
none  of  her  acquaintance,  I  can  tell  you,  only  as 
she  under-rented  two  rooms  of  me,  and  went  away 
owing  me." 

When  the  stranger  entered,  Juliet  was  reading 
to  Mr.  Barlow.  She  pressed  his  arm,  whispering, 
"  I  know  that  man.  He  is  horrid  cross." 

"  Don't  tremble  so,  my  child,  he'll  not  hurt  you." 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  afraid  of  him  now — but  I  used  to 
be," 

This  was  said  while  Mrs.  Aikin  was  communi- 
cating to  the  man  the  small  likelihood  that  he 
would  get  his  debt. 

"  I  don't  expect  much,"  replied  the  man,  "  of  the 
like  of  her,  but  I've  got  something  that  will  bring 
something  more."  He  took  from  his  pocket  a 
handkerchief,  and,  unrolling  it,  proceeded :  "  After 
that  woman  left  my  house,  she  missed  a  packet, 


160  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

and  came  back  and  made  a  terrible  rummaging ; 
but  another  tenant  had  moved  in  with  a  heap  of 
litter,  and  nothing  could  be  found  of  the  packet. 
Since  t'other  tenant  has  packed  off  'twixt  two  days, 
and  we  found  this  stowed  away  in  the  closet." 
He  took  out  a  small  locket  and  a  letter. 

"That  locket  was  my  mother's!"  exclaimed 
Juliet. 

"  Was,  child  ?  but  it's  mine  now.  I  don't  be- 
lieve," continued  the  man,  supposing  of  course  that 
Mrs.  Smith  was  Juliet's  mother,  "that  it  ever  did 
belong  to  your  mother ;  but  you  shall  judge,  good 
woman,"  to  Mrs.  Aikin.  "  Here  is  the  letter — the 
locket  was  in  the  letter."  He  began  reading. 

"'My  dear' — something,  I  can't  tell  that  word; 
it  may  be  father,  and  it  may  be  mother ;  but  never 
mind,  it  goes  on :  l  On  the  bed  of  death,  and  with 
my  poor  little  girl  beside  me — ' " 

"  Oh,  it  was  my  own  mother  that  wrote  it !" 
screamed  Juliet ;  "  don't  let  him  read  it !" 

Forgetting  her  fears,  she  sprang  forward  and 
snatched  it,  repeating,  with  an  imploring  look  to 
Mr.  Barlow  and  Mrs.  Aikin,  "  It  is  mine !  it  was 
my  own  mother  wrote  it !" 

Mrs.  Aikin  soothed  her,  and  Mr.  Barlow  drew 
her  to  him,  whispering  an  assurance  that  she 
should  keep  it. 

"  What  the  deuse  ails  you,  child  ?"  asked  the 
man ;  "  you  are  welcome  to  the  letter,  though  I 
guess  it  will  make  you  all  kind  o'  qualmish  to  read 
it.  The  locket  I'll  keep  myself — the  casing,  I 
mean  ;  the  picture  won't  sell  for  any  thing,  though 
I  think  it's  a  pretty,  comely-looking  person.  What 
do  you  think,  neighbour?"  holding  it  up  to  Mr, 


LIGHT    IN   A   DARK   PLACE.  161 

Barlow.  Mr.  Barlow  cast  his  eye  on  the  locket : 
he  recognised  an  old  likeness  of  himself ;  a  sud- 
den paleness  overspread  his  face  ;  he  took  the  let- 
ter from  Juliet's  hand,  to  him  unresisting ;  his  eye 
glanced  rapidly  over  it :  the  blood  rushed  again  to 
his  cheeks,  coloured  deeply  his  pale  forehead,  and 
again  retreated.  He  threw  his  arms  around  Juliet, 
laid  his  head  on  hers,  and  sobbed  out,  "  My  child ! 
Mary  !  Mary  !  my  child  !" 

Mrs.  Aikin  guessed  the  meaning  of  all  this. 
She  dismissed  the  man  with  the  assurance  that  he 
should  be  paid  the  small  sum  due  to  him,  and  then 
left  Mr.  Barlow  to  compose  himself,  and  give  to 
Juliet  the  joyful  explanation  of  what  seemed  to 
her  a  riddle. 

When  she  returned  she  found  them  calm,  and  as 
happy  as  they  could  be  ;  their  joy  tempered  by  the 
following  sad  letter  : — 

Letter  from  Juliet's  mother. 

"  MY  DEAR  FATHER:— On  the  bed  of  death, 
and  with  my  little  girl,  who  will  soon  be  an  or- 
phan, beside  me,  I  write  this.  My  hand  is  stiff, 
and  a  racking  cough  interrupts  me.  I  can  write 
but  a  few  lines  at  a  time.  Till  last  week  I  hoped 
to  get  well,  consumption  is  so  flattering. 

*'  Dear  father,  I  never  told  you  any  thing  but 
truth  about  my  situation  in  America  ;  but  I  could 
not  bear  to  distress  you  and  sister  with  the  whole 
truth.  You  could  not  help  me,  so  I  tried  to  suffer 
patiently ;  and  I  never  felt  alone,  for  when  we 
have  no  human  friend  nor  help,  then  it  is  we  feel 
God  to  be  near.  Ronald  turned  out  what  I  might 
have  expected  when  he  persuaded  me  to  marry 
02 


162  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

him  against  your  will  and  consent.  He  was  al- 
ways headstrong — poor  Ronald !  We  lived  com- 
fortably in  Canada  for  a  while.  Oh  !  what  pleas- 
ure I  took  in  being  saving,  and  making  his  pay 
hold  out.  An  ensign's  pay  is  small,  father ;  and, 
for  a  while  after  Juliet  was  born,  he  seemed  to  feel 
what  it  was  to  be  a  father,  and  what  he  owed  to 
the  child  God  had  given  him,  and  it  seemed  hap- 
piness enough  for  him  to  be  with  us.  Then  I  wrote 
you  often,  and  you  know  all  about  that  time,  father ! 
How  soon  it  passed !  Bad  people  drew  him  away 
from  me,  and  bad  people  and  hard  drinking  harden- 
ed his  heart ;  and  often  and  often,  when  I  have  gone 
to  meet  .him  in  the  damp  night,  wild  with  fear  that 
something  had  happened  to  him,  and  waited  hours 
and  hours,  he  has  come,  and — ;  but,  poor  Ron- 
ald !  I  can't  bear  to  bring  up  his  sins  now  !  But, 
oh !  my  poor  little  child,  how  she  has  suffered  for 
his  faults  !  There  were  times  when  the  sight  of 
her  brought  him  to  a  momentary  penitence ;  but 
he  had  no  true  joy  in  her.  I  have  seen  what  bitter 
drops  conscience  has  poured  into  the  sweet  foun- 
tain of  parental  love.  I  have  seen  him  when  the 
tones  of  innocence  and  the  look  of  love  were  cut- 
ting reproaches  to  him.  Poor  Ronald  !" 


"  I  suffered,  father,  in  many  ways — when,  and 
where,  and  how,  there  is  no  use  in  telling  now. 
I  found  patience  a  great  help,  and  in  the  darkest 
times  I  could  pray  for  my  poor  husband.  Had  he 
but  turned  to  the  right  path,  I  would  have  wel- 
comed poverty,  sickness,  hardship  of  any  sort ;  but 


LIGHT   IN   A   DARK   PLACE.  163 

the  wounded  spirit  that  cometh  from  the  sin  of 
those  we  love,  who  can  bear  ?" 


"  Ronald  failed  in  military  duty,  and  lost  his 
commission,  and  changed  his  name  to  Brown. 
We  came  to  New-York.  This  was  a  dark  time, 
father.  I  was  sometimes,  for  weeks,  alone  with 
my  child.  He  came  to  me  to  die.  I  remembered 
Him  who  forgiveth  liberally,  and  upbraideth  not. 
I  watched  him,  day  and  night,  till  he  died.  May 
I  not  hope  for  him  ?  but,  alas  ! — alas  !  his  life  was 
a  continual  violation  of  God's  laws.  Towards  the 
last  his  mind  was  gone. — Poor  Ronald !" 


"  I  went  to  the  British  consul.  He  was  very 
kind  to  me  ;  and  from  some  English  people,  with 
true  English  hearts,  he  got  money  enough  to  send 
me  and  Juliet  home  to  you.  I  was  on  board  the 
ship  when,  as  I  wrote  to  you,  symptoms  of  the 
varioloid  appeared.  I  was  sent  off.  Juliet  and  I 
both  had  the  disease.  My  disappointment  aggra- 
vated it  with  me.  I  was  left  low.  I  have  worked 
a  little  since,  and  sometimes  hoped  to  earn  money 
to  go  home  to  you.  I  had  spent,  in  my  sickness, 
all  that  was  given  to  me.  I  have  written  but  once, 
hoping  always  to  have  something  better  to  write. 
But  it's  all  over  now !  Don't  mourn  about  it, 
father — nor  you,  dear  sister, — it  is  God's  will,  and 
never — never  has  it  seemed  hard  to  me  to  bend  to 
his  will.  When  poor  Ronald  went  astray  from 
His  will—- that  I  felt  to  be  hard." 


164  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

"My  little  girl — I  have  laid  her  in  His  arms 
who  bade  little  children  come  unto  Him.  She  is 
now  His ;  and,  indeed — indeed,  my  heart  is  not 
troubled  about  her." 


"  Thank  you,  dear  father,  for  long  ago  sending 
me  your  forgiveness  for  what  you  were  so  kind  as 
to  call  my  '  only  disobedience.'  I  think  it  is  easy 
for  the  good  to  forgive.  As  I  draw  near  home,  I 
am  always  with  you  in  my  dreams.  I  see  the 
white  cottage  and  the  hedge ;  and  last  night  you 
and  sister  kissed  me." 


"  There  is  a  woman  here  kind  to  me.  I  shall 
leave  a  request  to  the  British  consul  to  send  Juliet 
to  you.  God  has  given  me  his  peace,  father. 
Don't  you  and  sister  mourn  for  me.  Let  Juliet 
take  my  place.  Farewell ! — once  more  I  kiss 
you  and  sister.  "  Your  M.  B." 


Death  came  sooner  than  Mary  expected;  and 
ner  child,  instead  of  being  placed  in  the  consul's 
hands,  was  apparently  left  with  no  other  depend- 
ance  than  the  uncertain  charities  of  a  worthless 
woman.  But  He  who  never  forsakes  the  orphan 
committed  to  him  had,  as  Mr.  Barlow  expressed 
it,  led  this  lost  lamb  into  the  right  fold.  He 
steeped  Mary's  letter  in  his  tears — tears  of  natural 


A   DEATH-BED.  165 

sorrow  for  her  sufferings,  and  of  gratitude  that  a 
husband's  unfaithfulness,  that  poverty  and  sick- 
ness, had  all  been  God's  ministers  to  bring  her  to 
heaven. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A   DEATH-BED. 

A  PROFITABLE  lesson  in  the  economy  of  numan 
life  might  have  been  learned  in  the  dying  Paulina's 
apartment.  Her  last  excess,  her  last  draught  of 
gin,  taken  in  an  excited  and  feverish  state,  had 
accelerated  her  disease.  She  had  a  raging  fever, 
and  her  cough  was  attended  by  spasms  that,  at 
each  recurrence,  threatened  her  with  instant  death. 
Charlotte,  after  in  vain  searching  for  some  com- 
fortable garments  among  the  relics  of  Paulina's 
evil  days — after  turning  over  stained  silk  dresses, 
tattered  gauzes,  yellow  blonde  laces,  and  tangled 
artificial  flowers,  had  furnished  from  her  own 
stores  clean  apparel  suitable  for  a  sick  woman. 

"  Oh,  Lottie,  please,"  said  Paulina,  pointing  to 
the  various  articles  of  old  finery  that  hung  about 
the  room,  or  over  the  sides  of  her  broken  band- 
boxes, "  please  put  them  all  out  of  my  sight — they 
seem  like  so  many  witnesses  against  me — they 
taunt  me  for  my  sin  and  folly.  How  good  this 
clean  snug  cap  feels — how  kind  it  is  of  you  to 
lend  me  these  things !" 


166  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

"  I  have  plenty,  Paulina  ;  we  always  calculate 
to  have  a  good  store  of  necessaries.  Susan  and  I 
think,  if  we  don't  want  them,  they  will  come  in  play 
for  somebody — and,  with  a  little  industry  and  fore- 
cast, they  are  easily  got.  You  can  buy  a  dozen 
such  caps  as  that  of  mine  for  the  half  of  what  one 
of  yours  cost,  Paulina." 

"  I  can't  help  that  now,"  retorted  Paulina,  pet- 
tishly ;  "  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  so,"  she  added, 
after  a  moment's  pause — "  but  oh,  Lottie,  every 
thing  stings  me." 

"  And  I  am  sure,"  said  the  gentle  Charlotte,  "  I 
did  not  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings  ;  but  I  did  not 
know  but  you  might  think  it  strange  such  a  poor 
person  as  I  should  boast  of  abundance." 

"You  poor,  Lottie  ! — you  poor  ! — oh,  I  can  tell 
you  what  it  is  to  be  poor.  To  be  without  any 
worldly  possessions  is  not  to  be  poor,  for  you  have 
a  treasure  laid  up  in  heaven.  To  be  what  the 
world  calls  friendless  is  not  to  be  poor,  for  you 
have  God  and  conscience  for  friends.  But  to  be 
as  I  am,  memory  tormenting ! — without  hope — to 
have  no  inward  peace — no  store  of  pleasant 
thoughts  of  good  done  !  Oh,  this  is  poverty.  Pov- 
erty is  nothing  outside,  Lottie." 

For  a  moment,  Paulina's  mind  would  seem  to 
have  more  even  than  its  natural  strength  and  clear- 
ness :  but  such  bright  intervals  were  short,  and 
succeeded  by  hours  when  she  seemed  to  be  heav- 
ily sleeping  away  her  existence ;  and  Charlotte 
would  long  to  see  her  awaken  to  a  consciousness 
of  her  ebbing  life,  and  employing  the  little  time 
that  remained  in  preparation  for  her  departure. 
But,  alas  for  those  who  leave  their  preparation  for 


A   DEATH-BED.  167 

the  death-bed  !  who  defer  to  a  few  suffering  hoars 
the  work  for  which  life  is  given  ! 

"  "Who  would  have  thought,  Lottie,"  said  Susan, 
as  the  sisters  sat  together,  watching  Paulina's 
troubled  sleep,  "that  you  would  have  lived  to 
nurse  her  on  her  death-bed !  It  is  teaching  to  look 
at  you  and  then  at  her." 

Arid,  as  Susan  said,  it  was  "  teaching."  It  taught 
that,  if  the  laws  of  nature,  which  are  the  laws  of 
God,  are  obeyed,  the  frailest,  most  delicate  con- 
stitution may  be  preserved  ;  and  that  the  most  vig- 
orous health  must  be  destroyed  by  a  violation  of 
those  laws.  Charlotte,  by  strict  temperance,  by 
regular  exercise,  by  prudence  and  thoughtfulness, 
had  preserved  the  little  remnant  of  health  left  by 
the  cruel  accident  she  had  endured  in  her  child- 
hood. But,  what  was  far  better,  by  the  religious 
performance  of  her  duties — by  contentment,  both 
with  the  gifts  and  the  denials  of  Providence — by 
forgetting  herself,  and  remembering  everybody 
else — by  loving,  and  (a  most  sure  consequence) 
being  loved  in  turn — she  had  preserved  that  sweet 
serenity  of  spirit  that  shone  through  her  pale  face, 
and  all  those  faculties  in  active  operation,  that, 
slender  and  fragile  as  she  was,  made  her  the  com- 
fort of  her  family ;  the  dear  Aunt  Lottie  of  the 
home  she  blessed. 

Fifteen  years  before  Paulina  was  the  picture  of 
health,  and  in  possession  of  the  virtues  (or  rather 
accidents)  which  are  usually  found  with  a  sound 
and  vigorous  constitution.  She  was  good-humour- 
ed, bright,  courageous,  and  kind-hearted.  But, 
alas !  she  was  brought  up  by  an  ignorant  mother, 
in  ignorance  and  the  excessive  love  of  pleas- 


168  THE  POOR  RICH  MAN,  ETC. 

lire.  She  was  pretty,  and  she  was  flattered  at 
home  and  abroad.  That  love  of  dress  which  per- 
vades all  classes  of  women,  which  grows  with 
their  growth  and  strengthens  with  their  strength, 
which  is  cherished  by  the  conversation  of  their 
own  sex  and  the  flattery  of  the  other,  which  de- 
grades the  rich  and  ruins  so  many  poor  girls,  was 
one  of  the  most  efficient  causes  of  Paulina's  de- 
struction.* 

"  Do  you  remember,"  continued  Susan,  "  how 
clear  and  full  her  eye  was  1  and  now  how  sunken, 
and  those  yellow,  dropsical-looking  bags  about  it  j 
and  her  cheeks,  I  remember  father  used  to  say  they 
looked  like  rare-ripes ;  dear  me !  how  the  bones 
stick  out  now  where  the  fair  round  flesh  was  ;  and 
how  like  old  tripe  it  looks  where  she  has  had  the 
paint  on  ;  and  her  lips,  what  a  bright  cherry-red 
pair  they  were  :  dear  !  dear  !  how  blue  they  are  ; 
and  see  her  neck  and  arms,  Lottie,  that  were  so 
plump  and  white,  now  how  shrivelled  and  skinny 
they  look.  Dear  Lottie,"  she  added,  "  I  can't  help 
saying  it,  as  I  turn  my  eye  from  Paulina  to  you  ; 
you  seem  like  a  temple  in, which  the  spirit  of  God 
dwelleth.  Oh !  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  have 
cherished,  and  not  abused,  God's  good  gifts !" 

*  A  gentleman,  whose  uncommon  sagacity  and  rare  benevo- 
lence have  had  an  ample  field  of  observation  and  employment 
in  the  office  which  he  for  a  long  while  held,  of  superintendent 
of  the  House  of  Refuge  in  this  city,  has  said  that  he  believed 
the  love  of  dress  was  a  most  efficient  cause  of  the  degrada- 
tion and  misery  of  the  young  females  of  the  city.  If  this  is  so, 
should  not  the  reforma'tion  begin  among  the  educated  and  re- 
flecting ?  Among  those  who  can  afford  indulgence  ?  How  can 
a  lady,  whose  presses  are  teeming  with  French  millinery  and 
embroidery,  enjoin  simplicity  and  economy  on  her  domestics  ? 
But  this  is  a  subject  that  demands  a  volume ;  or,  rather,  that 
demands  examples  instead  of  precepts. 


A   DEATH-BED.  169 

"  Hush !  Susan,  she  is  waking !"  and  poor  Pau- 
lina awoke  from  a  troubled  dream,  coughing  and 
gasping.  "  Oh !"  said  she,  as  soon  as  she  could 
speak,  "  I  thought  I  was  dead  and  in  misery,  but 
I  am  still  living ;  and,  Lottie,  does  not  the  Bible 
say — I  have  almost  forgotten  all  I  knew  about  the 
Bible — but  does  it  not  say  there  is  hope  for  the 
living  ?" 

"  Yes,  Paulina  ;  if  they  repent  of  their  evil 
deeds,  and  turn  to  the  Lord,  there  is  with  him 
plenteous  redemption." 

"  Does  it  say  so  ?" — a  suffocating  fit  of  cough- 
ing interrupted  her.  "  My  mind,"  she  continued, 
when  she  could  get  her  breath,  "  My  mind  is  so 
confused,  I  have  so  given  up  my  thoughts  to  folly 
and  sin,  that  I  canrt  even  think  good  thoughts  ; 
how  can  I  repent? — I  am  so  sleepy — "  and,  as  she 
yet  spoke,  the  words  died  away  on  her  lips,  and  a 
heavy  sleep  came  over  her,  from  which  she  start- 
ed as  from  a  nightmare. 

"  I  have  done  one  good  thing,"  she  said :  "  I 
was  good  to  Juliet !" 

"  That  should  comfort  you  !"  said  Susan,  seizing, 
as  eagerly  as  a  drowning  man  catches  at  a  straw, 
at  Paulina's  single  consoling  recollection. 

"  But,  Susan,  I  was  not  kind  as  you  would  have 
been — such  as  I  can't  be  so.  I  did  keep  my  evil 
life  out  of  her  sight ;  I  have  ahvays  paid  something 
extra,  that  she  might  have  a  little  room  to  herself." 

"  That  was  considerate,  Paulina." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Lottie  ?     Dear  me  !  if  I  had 

only  realized  how  soon  it  would  come  to  this,  I 

should  have  lived  so  differently  !     My  God  !    but 

*he  other  day  we  were  playing  together  in  Essex, 

P 


170  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

and  now !  Do  you  think  me  very,  very  near 
death  ?"  she  added,  rightly  interpreting  the  expres- 
sion of  her  friends'  faces. 

"  You  cannot  have  long  to  live,"  replied  Char- 
lotte, in  a  voice  of  the  tenderest  pity. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  send  for  a  minister  ?" 
"  We  will,  if  you  wish  it,  Paulina." 
"  I  do,  I  do — pray  be  quick  !"  Susan  went  to 
the  door  and  despatched  a  messenger,  while  Pau- 
lina looked  eagerly  after  her  ;  but,  when  Susan  re- 
turned to  the  bed,  the  poor  creature  shook  her  head 
and  said,  with  the  awful  solemnity  of  deep  convic- 
tion— •"  What  good  can  he  do  me  ? — It  lieth  be- 
tween me  and  my  Maker  /"  Her  lips  then  murmur- 
ed a  low,  broken  prayer  ; — suddenly  stopping,  she 
implored  Lottie  to  pray  for  her.  "  I  cannot  pray," 
she  said  ;  "  don't  let  me  go  to  sleep,  Susan."  Su- 
san chafed  her  temples  and  hands,  while  Charlotte 
knelt  and  besought  pardon  for  the  dying  woman,  as 
a  confiding  child  asks  favours  from  a  parent  she 
supremely  loves.  Her  prayer  expressed  her  faith 
in  the  compassions  of  God,  as  revealed  by  his  son  ; 
her  face  shone  with  love  and  mercy,  from  her  soul, 
his  faint  image.  But  poor  Paulina  was  past  all 
comfort.  When  Charlotte  finished,  she  said,  faint- 
ly— "  Say  it  again,  Lottie,  I  could  not  hear  you. 
Come  nearer,  I  don't  see  you  ! — Give  me  air  ! — did 
mother  speak  ! — no,  I  mean  the  minister  ! — has  he 
come  ? — tell  Juliet — no,  not  that — thank  you,  Su- 
san— my  God  ! — it's  so  sudden ! — help  me,  Lot- 
tie !"  And  thus,  uttering  at  intervals  broken  sen- 
tences, more  and  more  incoherent,  she  continued 
almost  unconscious  of  the  ministrations  of  her 


A   DEATH-BED.  171 

friends,  till  she  sunk  into  a  lethargy  which  ended 
in  death. 

The  sisters  wept  over  her  such  tears  as  angels 
might  shed.  "  I  remember,"  said  Susan,  "  almost 
crying  my  eyes  out  when  mother  died ;  I  have 
often  cried,  Lottie,  to  see  you  patiently  bearing 
cruel  pain,  and  I  cried  till  my  tears  seemed  all 
spent  when  my  angel  baby  died — but  I  never  shed 
^uch  bitter  tears  as  these  ;  there  is  no  sight  in  this 
world  so  sad  as  the  death-bed  of  the  sinner  ! 
But,  Lottie,  don't  you  think  we  were  some  comfort 
to  her?" 


Two  days  after,  as  Aikin  and  his  family,  accord- 
ing to  the  village  custom  of  his  native  place, 
were  following  the  remains  of  Paulina  to  their  last 
abode,  they  were  intercepted  by  a  long  train  of 
funeral  carnages.  In  the  first,  in  deep  weeds,  was 
Morris  Finley,  following  the  body  of  his  only  son 
William  Arthur.  The  boy  had  died  suddenly,  and, 
according  to  the  common  saying,  of  a  "  most  mys- 
terious disease."  Such  mysteries  are  easily  solv- 
ed if  we  would  honestly  look  at  the  truth.  The 
boy's  stomach  had  been  vitiated  from  infancy  by 
all  sorts  of  delicacies  and  luxuries,  permitted  by 
his  foolish  mother.  The  instrument,  strained  to  its 
utmost— and  a  slight  accident — a  trifling  excess, 
destroyed  him. 

We  need  not  conjecture  the  reflections  of  Mor- 
ris Finley  on  this  occasion,  when,  for  a  little  while 
at  least,  he  must  have  felt  his  wealth  mocking  him 
with  its  emptiness. 


172  THE    POOR   RICH    MAN,  ETC. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE    CONCLUSION. 

IT  was  early  in  the  October  following  the  win- 
ter of  Paulina's  death  that  Mr.  Aikin  said,  one  fine 
day,  to  his  children,  "  Come,  if  mother  says  yes, 
we'll  all  go  down  and  see  the  new  house." 

As  mother  always  said  "  yes"  when  any  reason- 
able pleasure  was  offered  to  the  children,  hats  and 
shawls  were  half  on  before  the  little  monosyllable 
was  fairly  uttered.  "  Come,  danfather,  I  tant  half 
see  it  if  you  don't  see  it,"  said  little  Phil ;  and, 
"  Come,  Aunt  Lottie,  we  sha'n't  call  it  seeing  it  if 
you  don't  see  it,"  said  the  rest  of  the  children ; 
and,  "  You  and  Juliet  must  go,  Mr.  Barlow,"  said 
Aikin,  "  and  tell  us  how  you  like  your  new  quar- 
ters ;"  and  so,  illustrating  the  truth  that  governed 
this  family,  that  the  good  and  happiness  of  one 
was  the  good  and  happiness  of  all,  they  set  forth. 

"  Don't  you  an^  Juliet  walk  so  fast,"  called  out 
little  Phil  to  his  eager  brother  William,  "  I  tant 
hardly  hold  danfather  up,  he  stumbles  so !" 

"  Phil  is  the  most  thoughtful  and  careful  child 
you  ever  had,  Susan ;  I  tell  you,  he  takes  after 
me."  ' 

Susan,  dutiful  daughter  as  she  was,  could  not 
but  smile  at  the  particular  virtues  her  father  had 
selected  to  fix  the  resemblance  on,  as  she  replied, 
"  I  wish  he  may  grow  up  half  as  good,  father." 


THE    CONCLUSION.  173 

u  Aunt  Lottie,"  said  little  Ruth,  "  don't  Mr. 
Beckwith  getting  this  house  done  so  soon  for 
father  put  you  in  mind  of  Mr.  Barlow's  story  about 
Aladdin's  lamp  ?" 

"  I  never  take  much  notice  of  such  stories, 
Ruth  but  it  puts  me  in  mind  of  those  words  in  the 
Bible,  '  The  liberal  man  deviseth  liberal  things  ; 
and  the  good  that  he  purposeth,  that  he  doeth 
quickly.'  " 

"  I  never  knew  anybody  like  you,  Aunt  Lottie  ; 
you  always  remember  something  in  the  Bible  that 
seems  to  suit." 

"  Because,  dear,  I  read  the  Bible  more  than  all 
other  books,  and  there  is  something  in  it  fitting  all 
occasions." 

"  I  love  to  read  the  Bible  with  you,  Aunt  Lottie, 
for  it  seems  as  if — " 

"As  if  what?"  said  Ruth. 

"  I  know  what  is  in  my  mind,  but  I  don't  know  as 
I  can  express  it.  When  our  schoolmistress  reads 
it  to  us,  it  seems  as  if  she  read  it  because  she 
thought  she  ought  to  ;  but  you  seem  to  read  it  be- 
cause you  love  it." 

None  should  attempt  to  impart  religious  senti- 
ments to  children  who  do  not  feel  them.  "  The 
letter  killeth,  the  spirit  giveth  life." 

"  Where  shall  we  begin  first,"  said  Harry  Aikin, 
"  at  the  kitchen  or  parlour  ?" 

"  Parlour  !— are  we  going  to  have  a  parlour  ? 
Oh,  that's  what  mother  has  been  making  the  new 
carpet  for !" 

"  Well,  here  it  is,  you  see,  with  nice  blinds,  and 
a  good  grate,  and  all  finished  off  neatly,  so  that 
you  will  have  good  reason  for  keeping  every  thing 


174  THE   POOR   RICH    MAN,  ETC. 

in  order;  and  here  is  a  place  for  books"  (he 
opened  the  doors) — "bless  me,  it  is  half  full 
already !"  The  children  crowded  round,  and  eager- 
ly took  down  the  books,  and  found  them  to  be  pres- 
ents from  each  member  of  the  Beckwith  family 
to  each  member  of  the  Aikins,  down  to  "  Cobwebs 
to  catch  Flies,"  and  "  Mother  Goose's  Melodies," 
for  little  Phil.  The  last  grandfather  averred  to  be 
nothing  new-fangled,  and  about  the  divertingest 
book  that  was  ever  writ  for  children.  To  confess 
the  truth,  Uncle  Phil's  chief  lore  was  derived  from 
these  immortal  lyrics. 

We  wish  that  some  of  our  friends  whom,  in 
splendid  mansions,  we  have  heard  fretting  and  re- 
pining because  they  had  not  this  elegance  here, 
and  that  improvement  there,  could  have  heard  the 
exclamations  and  seen  the  sparkling  eyes  of  our 
humble  friends  as  they  surveyed  their  new  tene- 
ment. "  How  nice,"  exclaimed  Anne,  "  this  par- 
lour will  be  for  our  '  sociables !' — it  will  seem 
like  a  sociable  every  evening,  with  only  our  own 
family." 

"  So  it  will,  Anne,"  cried  Uncle  Phil,  rubbing 
his  hands,  "  I  declare  it's  as  pleasant — ena'most — 
as  the  old  house  in  Essex."  Uncle  Phil's  eye 
caught  the  smile  on  his  daughter's  lips  :  "  I  know, 
gals"  he  added,  "  that  was  kind  o'  shattered  when 
we  left,  and  this  is  snugger  and  more  fixed  up ;  but, 
after  all,  it  has  not  that  look" 

."  You  are  quite  right,  father,"  replied  Susan  ; 
and,  as  she  spoke,  the  loving  matron's  eye  turned 
to  her  husband :  "  there  is  nothing  can  have  that 
look  that  our  first  love  has." 

"  This  little  bedroom  is  next  to  Mr.  Barlow's 


THE    CONCLUSION.  175 

room,  and  just  big  enough  for  a  single  bed — this 
must  be  for  Juliet,"  decided  one  voice,  and  echoed 
many  others,  as  they  passed  out  of  the  back  room 
into  a  small  apartment  fitted  up  with  presses  and 
drawers,  and  ventilated  and  lighted  by  glazed 
panels  above  the  doors.  On  the  second  floor  were 
three  rooms,  in  the  largest  a  Franklin ;  and  Mrs. 
Aikin,  remembering  Mr.  Beckwith  had  made  in- 
quiries as  to  what  mode  of  warming  her  room 
Charlotte  preferred,  at  once  assigned  this  to  her. 
"  To  be  sure  this  is  Aunt  Lottie's,"  said  little  Ruth; 
"  there  is  the  very  picture,  Aunt  Lottie,  you  was 
explaining  to  me  at  the  print-shop  window  when 
Mrs.  Beckwith  stopped  to  speak  to  us." 

"  '  Christ  healing  the  sick'  is  the  right  picture 
for  your  room,  Lottie,"  said  her  sister. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Beckwith  is  too  good,"  said  the  grate- 
ful Lottie. 

"  Mrs.  Beckwith  is  very  good,  but  nothing  in  the 
world  is  too  good  for  you,  Aunt  Lottie;"  and,  "No, 
indeed !"  and,  "  No,  indeed  !"  was  echoed  by  the 
children. 

We  must  not  detain  our  readers  with  further 
particulars ;  suffice  it  to  say,  the  rooms  were  well 
ventilated ;  presses  and  drawers  abounded ;  the 
kitchen  had  every  convenience  to  facilitate  order 
and  lighten  labour ;  there  was  a  pump,  that  sup- 
plied water  from  a  copious  cistern— a  drain — a 
large  pantry,  and  close  cupboards,  &c.  <fcc. ;  and 
all  the  conveniences,  from  garret  to  cellar,  produ- 
cing such  an  amount  of  comfort  to  a  worthy  family, 
did  not,  as  Mr.  Beckwith  demonstrated  by  his  ac- 
counts, cost  so  much  as  many  a  single  article  of 
ornamental  furniture,  nor  twice  as  much  as  a 


176  THE    POOR   RICH   MAN,    ETC 

single  pocket-handkerchief,  or  embroidered  cape, 
sold  daily  by  Mr.  Stewart  to  the  ladies  of  our  city ! 

In  the  evening,  at  their  own  dwelling,  the  house 
naturally  was  the  subject  of  conversation.  "  How 
very  lucky,"  said  Uncle  Phil,  "  that  Mr.  Beckwith 
happened  to  build  a  house  that  suits  us  to  a  T  !" 

"It  is  not  luck,  father,"  said  Harry Aikin,"  when 
things  suit  precisely.  Mr.  Beckwith  has  studied 
the  condition  and  wants  of  the  labouring  classes. 
He  tells  me,  the  attention  of  many  rich  men  has 
been  turned  to  the  miserable  tenements  of  the 
poorer  classes  ;  and  he  says,  they  believe  the  want 
of  comfort  and  convenience  about  them  to  be  a 
great  evil  to  society — they  think  the  intemperance 
of  many  men  may  be  traced  to  this  cause.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  crowds  huddled  together  in  filthy 
unwholesome  alleys,  even  the  better  houses  of  the 
poor  are  discouraging  to  the  women :  they  get 
wearied  out  with  their  necessary  work,  and  no 
strength  and  time  left  to  clean  a  house  that  always 
wants  cleaning.  The  poor  husband  has  been 
.working  hard  all  day;  comes  home  at  night  to  a 
filthy,  dark,  cold  room — his  wife  cross,  or  half  sick 
and  dumpish,  and  crying  children — no  wonder  he 
goes  out  to  the  corner  grocery,  that  looks  so  light 
and  cheerful !" 

"  Then,  after  all,  father,  it's  the  woman,  and  not 
the  house,  that  drives  him  off?" 

"  Ah,  Will,  the  poor  wife  is  disheartened  ;  we 
are  weak  creatures,  my  son,  and  need  help  on  ev- 
ery side." 

"  I  am  sure  you  and  mother  have  not  had  so 
many  helps." 

"  Have  not  we  1     I'll  tell  you  some  of  my  helps, 


THE    CONCLUSION.  177 

Will :  I  had  a  good  education,  I  do  not  mean  as 
to  learning,  that  is  only  one  part  of  it ;  I  was  taught 
to  use  my  faculties.  But,  first,  and  best  of  all, 
I  early  learned  to  seek  the  favour  of  God,  and 
the  approval  of  conscience.  I  have  always  had  a 
cheerful  home,  a  clean  room  to  come  to,  clean  chil- 
dren, and  a  nice  wife.  Your  mother  has  perform- 
ed her  duties,  great  and  small ;  as  to  the  small,  she 
never  has  failed  a  day  since  we  were  married  to 
put  on  her  t'other  gown  at  evening,  and  a  clean 
cap  with  a  riband  bow,  most  always  of  blue,  the 
colour  she  knows  I  like  best.  Her  trade  has  help- 
ed us  through  many  a  hard-rubbing  day ;  and  it 
has  given  me  peace  of  mind,  for  I  know,  if  I  were 
taken  from  you,  she  could  and  would  support  you 
without  running  to  any  widows'  societies  or  assist- 
ance societies.  As  to  other  helps,  here  has  been 
your  good  grandfather  setting  us  examples  of  kind- 
ness, and  tending  each  of  you  as  you  came  along ; 
and  your  dear  Aunt  Lottie  always  a  blessed  help." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  such  a  comfort !"  interposed  Susan. 

"  And  then,  Heaven-directed,  came  Mr.  Barlow 
to  give  you  better  instruction ;  and,  finally,  Mr. 
Beck  with  to  help  us  to  a  house,  and  take  nothing 
from  our  independence  ;  for  he  says  the  rent, 
which  does  not  exceed  more  than  that  we  now 
pay,  will  yield  him  eight  per  cent,  for  the  money 
he  has  invested.  He  says  he  can  afford  the  house 
lower  to  me  than  to  some  others,  for  he  is  sure 
of  being  punctually  paid  ;  and  sure  you  will  not 
mutilate  and  deface,  as  most  children  do,  shaving 
the  doors  with  penknives,  breaking  windows,  and 
destroying  every  way.  So,  you  see,  that  virtue, 
and  good  habits,  and  manners  (which  are  the  les- 


178  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC 

«er  virtues),  are  not  only  in  the  highest  sense  treas- 
ures, they  are  money  to  you.  In  the  labouring 
class,  property  is  a  sign  of  good  morals.  In  this 
country  nobody  sinks  into  deep  poverty — slumps 
through^  as  your  grandfather  says,  except  by  some 
vice,  directly  or  indirectly.  There  are,  perhaps, 
a  few  exceptions;  I  have  known  one,  and  but 
one.  Come  here,  Ruth ;  is  my  sermon  tiring 
you  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  father,  I  always  like  your  preach- 
ing ;  but  I  was  thinking." 

"  Of  what,  Ruth  ?" 

"  That  the  scholars  at  our  school  don't  know  Mr. 
Beckwith ;  if  they  did,  they  'would  not  call  rich 
people  so  hateful." 

"  Children  are  excellent  judges." 

"  But,  father,  their  folks  tell  them." 

"  Observe  for  yourselves,  my  children,  and  don't 
trust  to  what  others  tell  you.  If  you  make  good 
use  of  your  bodily  eyes,  and  the  eyes  of  your  mind, 
you  will  see  that  Providence  has  bound  the  rich 
and  the  poor  by  one  chain.  Their  interests  are 
the  same  ;  the  prosperity  of  one  is  the  prosperity 
of  all.  The  fountains  are  with  the  rich,  but  they 
are  no  better  than  a  stagnant  pool  till  they  flow  in 
streams  to  the  labouring  people.  The  enterprise 
and  success  of  the  merchant  give  us  employ^ 
ment  and  rich  rewards  for  our  labour.  We  are 
dependant  on  them,  but  they  are  quite  as  depend- 
ant on  us.  If  there  were  none  of  these  hateful 
rich  people,  Ruth,  who,  think  you,  would  build  hos- 
pitals, and  provide  asylums  for  orphans,  and  for 
the  deaf  and  dumb,  and  the  blind  ?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,  father !" 


THE    CONCLUSION.  179 

"  There  are  many  older  than  you,  my  child,  who 
come  to  wrong  conclusions  for  want  of  thinking." 

"  Now,  Harry  Aikin,"  said  Uncle  Phil,  who  (as 
our  readers  may  be)  was  getting  tired  and  sleepy, 
"  I  don't  see  the  use  of  so  much  thinking  ;  think- 
ing is  dreadful  puzzling  work,  I  tell  you !  The 
whole  of  it  is,  you  must  just  do  your  duty  thorough- 
ly, and  then  you'll  be  contented  in  this  world,  and 
happy  in  the  next ;  and  poverty  or  riches  won't 
make  a  straw's  difference  either  way." 

"  But  'tis  a  comfort,  father,"  said  Susan,  "to  the 
poor,  to  feel  that  there  is  nothing  low  in  poverty — 
to  remember  that  the  greatest,  wisest,  and  best  Be- 
ing that  ever  appeared  on  earth  had  no  part  nor 
lot  in  the  riches  of  this  world  ;  and  that,  for  our 
sakes,  he  became  poor." 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,  Susy — to  be  sure  it  is." 


NOTE. 


THE  writer  of  the  preceding  pages  would  not  be 
supposed  to  want  a  due  respect  for  the  art  of  medi- 
cine ;  that  it  sometimes  cures  and  sometimes  alle- 
viates, there  can  be  no  doubt ;  but,  does  not  the 
patient  often  resort  to  it,  and  resort  to  it  in  vain, 
when,  if  he  had  studied  and  obeyed  the  laws  of 
physiology,  he  would  not  have  needed  the  aid  it 
cannot  give. 

The  laws  of  Him  who  made  us  are  perfect.  "  It 
is  a  very  different  thing  to  comply  blindly  with  the 
directions  which  come  to  us  simply  on  the  authority 
of  a  man  like  ourselves,  and  to  comply  intelligently 
with  those  which  claim  our  obedience  on  the  author" 
ity  of  the  Creator" 

The  suggestions  made  in  this  volume,  on  the 
use  of  ablutions,"  ventilation,  flannel,  &c.,  for  the 
preservation  of  health,  are  derived  from  the  admi- 
rable and  popular  work  of  Andrew  Combe  on 
Physiology,  and  from  an  observation  of  the  benefit 
derived  from  the  actual  application  of  his  rules. 
We  give  a  few  brief  extracts  from  his  work,  and 
wish  that  the  whole,  in  a  more  popular  form,  were 
in  every  habitation  in  our  land. 

"  Taking,"  says  Mr.  Combe,  "  even  the  lowest 
estimate  of  Lavoisier,  we  find  the  skin  endowed 


NOTE.  181 

with  the  important  charge  of  removing  from  the 
system  about  twenty  ounces  of  waste  matter  every 
twenty-four  hours." — "  Insensible  perspiration  re- 
moves from  the  skin,  without  trouble  and  without 
consciousness,  a  large  quantity  of  useless  materi- 
als ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  keeps  the  skin  soft  and 
moist,  and  thereby  fits  it  for  the  performance  of  its 
functions  as  the  organ  of  external  sense." — "  Where 
the  perspiration  is  brought  to  'the  surface  of  the 
skin,  and  confined  there,  either  by  injudicious 
clothing,  or  by  want  of  cleanliness,  there  is  much 
reason  to  suppose  that  its  residual  parts  are  again 
absorbed,  and  act  on  the  system  as  a  poison  of 
greater  or  less  power,  according  to  its  quantity  and 
degree  of  concentration,  thereby  producing  fever, 
inflammation,  and  even  death  itself."  Mr.  Combe 
proceeds  to  adduce  many  facts  to  support  the  the- 
ory that  diseases  are  taken  in  through  the  skin, 
and  therefrom  infers  the  necessity  of  guarding  it. 
"  Brocchi  ascribes  the  immunity  (from  the  effects 
of  malaria)  of  the  sheep  and  cattle  which  pasture 
night  and  day  in  the  Campagna  to  the  protection  af- 
forded them  by  their  wool." — "  Similar  means 
have  been  found  effectual  in  preserving  the  health 
of  labourers  digging  and  excavating  drains  and  ca- 
nals in  marshy  grounds,  where,  previous  to  the 
employment  of  these  precautions,  the  mortality 
from  fever  was  very  considerable." 

"  The  insensible  perspiration  being  composed  of 
a  large  quantity  of  water,  which  passes  off  in  the 
form  of  vapour,  and  is  not  seen,  and  of  various  salts 
and  animal  matter,  a  portion  of  which  remains  ad- 
herent to  the  skin,  the  removal  of  this  residue  by 

Q 


182  THE    POOR   RICH   MAN,   ETC. 

washing  becomes  an  indispensable  condition  of 
health." 

In  youth  and  health,  "  cold  bathing  and  lighter 
clothing  may  be  resorted  to  with  a  rational  pros- 
pect of  advantage  ;  but  when,yrom  a  weak  constitu- 
tion or  unusual  susceptibility,  the  skin  is  not  endow- 
ed with  sufficient  vitality  to  originate  the  necessary 
reaction  which  alone  renders  these  safe  and  proper — 
when  they  produce  an  abiding  sense  of  chillness, 
however  slight  in  degree — we  may  rest  assured  that 
mischief  will  inevitably  follow  at  a  greater  or  shorter 
distance  of  time" 

"  Many  youths,  particularly  females,  and  those 
whose  occupations  are  sedentary,  pass  days, 
weeks,  and  months  without  experiencing  the 
pleasing  glow  and  warmth  of  a  healthy  skin,  and 
are  habitually  complaining  of  chillness  on  the  sur- 
face, cold  feet,  and  other  symptoms  of  deficient 
cutaneous  circulation.  Their  suffering,  unfortu- 
nately, does  not  stop  here  ;  for  the  unequal  dis- 
tribution of  the  blood  oppresses  the  internal  or- 
gans ;  and  too  often,  by  insensible  degrees,  lays 
the  foundation  of  tubercles  in  the  lungs,  and  other 
maladies,  which  show  themselves  only  when 
arrived  at  an  incurable  stage." — "  All  who  value 
health,  and  have  common  sense  and  resolution, 
will  take  warning  from  signs  like  these,  and  never 
rest  till  the  equilibrium  be  restored.  For  this  pur- 
pose, warm  clothing,  exercise  in  the  open  air,  spon- 
ging with  vinegar  and  water,  regular  friction  with  a 
flesh-brush  or  hair  glove,  and  great  cleanliness,  are 
excellently  adapted." 

"  The  Creator  has  made  exercise  essential  as 
a  means  of  health ;  and,  if  we  neglect  this,  and  seek 


NOTE.  183 

it  in  clothing  alone,  it  is  at  the  risk,  or  rather  cer- 
tainty, of  weakening  the  body,  relaxing  the  sur- 
face," &c.  &c. — "  Many  good  constitutions  are 
thus  ruined,  and  many  nervous  and  pulmonary 
complaints  brought  on  to  imbitter  existence." 

"  Flannel,  from  being  a  bad  conductor  of  heat, 
prevents  that  of  the  animal  economy  from  being 
quickly  dissipated,  and  protects  the  body  in  a  con- 
siderable degree  from  the  influence  of  sudden  ex- 
ternal changes.  From  its  presenting  a  rough  and 
uneven,  though  a  soft,  surface  to  the  skin,  every 
movement  of  the  body  in  labour  or  exercise  gives, 
by  the  consequent  friction,  a  gentle  stimulus  to  the 
cutaneous  vessels  and  nerves,  which  assists  their 
action,  and  maintains  their  functions  in  health ; 
and  being,  at  the  same  time,  of  a  loose  and  porous 
texture,  flannel  is  capable  of  absorbing  the  cuta- 
neous exhalations  to  a  larger  extent  than  any  other 
material  in  common  use." 

"  It  is  during  the  sudden  changes  from  heat  to 
cold,  so  common  in  autumn,  before  the  frame  has 
got  inured  to  the  reduction  of  temperature,  that 
protection  is  most  wanted,  and  flannel  is  most 
useful." 

"  The  exhalation  from  the  skin  being  so  con- 
stant and  extensive,  its  bad  effects  when  confined 
suggest  another  rule  of  conduct,  viz. — that  of  fre- 
quently changing  and  airing  the  clothes,  so  as  to 
free  them  from  every  impurity.  It  is  an  excellent 
plan  to  wear  two  sets  of  flannels,  each  being  worn 
and  aired  by  turns,  on  alternate  days." — "  A  prac- 
tice common  in  Italy  merits  universal  adoption. 
Instead  of  beds  being  made  up  in  the  morning  the 
moment  they  are  vacated,  and  while  still  saturated 


184  THE    POOR   RICH   MAN,    ETC. 

with  the  nocturnal  exhalations  which,  before  morn- 
ing, became  sensible,  even  to  smell,  in  a  bedroom, 
the  bedclothes  were  thrown  over  the  backs  of 
chairs,  the  mattresses  shaken  up,  and  the  windows 
thrown  open  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  so  as 
to  secure  a  thorough  and  cleansing  ventilation." 

"  The  opposite  practice,  carried  to  extremes  in 
the  dwellings  of  the  poor,  where  three  or  four 
beds  are  often  huddled  up,  with  all  their  impuri- 
ties, in  a  small  room,  is  a  fruitful  source  of  fever 
and  bad  health,  even  where  ventilation  during  the 
day,  and  nourishment,  are  not  deficient." 

"  In  eastern  and  warm  countries,  where  perspi- 
ration is  very  copious,  ablution  and  bathing  have 
assumed  the  importance  of  religious  observances." 

"  The  warm,  tepid,  cold,  or  shower  bath,  as  a 
means  of  preserving  health,  ought  to  be  in  as  com- 
mon use  as  a  change  of  apparel,  for  it  is  equally  a 
measure  of  necessary  cleanliness." — "  Our  conti- 
nental neighbours  consider  the  bath  as  a  necessary 
of  life." 

We  hope  the  following  remarks,  which  Mr, 
Combe  quotes  from  Stuart,  the  traveller,  will  be 
taken  as  a  wholesome  admonition,  not  as  an  un- 
kind censure : — 

"  The  practice  of  travellers  washing  at  the 
doors,  or  in  the  porticoes  or  stoops/or  at  the  wells 
of  taverns  and  hotels,  once  a  day,  is  most  prejudi- 
cial to  health;  the  ablution  of  the  body,  which 
ought  never  to  be  neglected,  at  least  twice  a  day, 
being  inconsistent  with  it.  I  found  it  more  diffi- 
cult, in  travelling  in  the  United  States,  to  procure 
a  liberal  supply  of  water,  at  all  times  of  the  day, 
in  my  bedchamber,  than  any  other  necessary.  A 


NOTE.  185 

supply  for  washing  the  hands  and  face  once  a  day 
seems  all  that  is  thought  requisite" 

"  For  general  use,  the  tepid,  or  warm  bath, 
seems  to  me  much  more  suitable  than  the  cold 
bath,  especially  in  winter,  for  those  who  are  not 
robust  and  full  of  animal  heat." — "  For  those  not 
rbbust,  daily  sppnging  of  the  body  with  cold  water 
and  vinegar,  or  salt  water,  is  the  best  substitute 
for  the  c'old  bath,  and  may  be  resorted  to  with 
safety,  especially  when  care  is  taken  to  excite  in 
the  surface,  by  subsequent  friction  with  the  flesh- 
brush  or  hair  glove,  the  healthy  glow  of  reaction." 
— "  A  person  in  sound  health  may  take  a  bath  at 
any  time,  except  immediately  after  meals." — "  As 
a  general  rule,  active  exertion  ought  to  be  avoided 
for  an  hour  or  two  after  using  the  warm  or  tepid 
bath." — "  If  the  bath  cannot  be  had  at  all  places, 
soap  and  water  may  be  obtained  everywhere,  and 
leave  no  apology  for  neglecting  the  skin ;  or,  if  the 
constitution  be  delicate,  water  and  vinegar,  or 
water  and  salt.  A  rough  and  rather  coarse  towel 
is  a  very  useful  auxiliary.  Few  of  those  who  have 
steadiness  enough  to  keep  up  the  action  of  the 
skin  by  the  above  means,  and  to  avoid  strong  ex- 
citing causes,  will  ever  suffer  from  colds,  sore 
throats,  or  similar  complaints." — "  If  one  tenth  of 
the  persevering  attention  and  labour  bestowed  to 
so  much  purpose  in  rubbing  down  and  currying 
the  skins  of  horses,  were  bestowed  on  the  human 
race  in  keeping  themselves  in  good  condition,  and 
a  little  attention  were  paid  to  diet  and  clothing, 
colds,  nervous  diseases,  and  stomach  complaints 
would  cease  to  form  so  large  a  catalogue  in  human 
miseries." 

Q2 


186  THE    POOR    RICH    MAN,    ETC. 

We  wish  we  could  enrich  our  little  book  with 
farther  extracts,  but  we  must  conclude  with  again 
earnestly  recommending  Dr.  Combe's  work,  "  The 
Principles  of  Physiology,  applied  to  the  Preserva- 
tion of  Health,"  as  one  of  the  most  important  foi 
the  family  library. 


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Thoughts  on  the  Religious  State  of  the  Country : 
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Lives  of  the  Necromancers ;  or,  an  Account  of  the 

most  Eminent  Persons  in  Successive  Ages  who  have  claimed 
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The  South- West.  By  a  Yankee.  In  2  vols. 
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Luther  and  the  Lutheran  Reformation.  By  the 
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History  of  the  Reformed  Religion  in  France.  By 
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vings. 

A  Narrative  of  the  Visit  to  the  American  Churches, 
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No  Fiction  :  a  Narrative  founded  on  Recent  and 
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Martha :  a  Memorial  of  an  only  and  beloved  Sis- 
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Matthias  and  his  Impostures ;  or,  the  Progress  of 
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W7illiam  L.  Stone.  18mo. 

Constantinople  and  its  Environs.     In  a  Series  o* 

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The  Life  of  Andrew  Jackson,  President  of  the 
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Things  as  they  are  ;  or,  Notes  of  a  Traveller 
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